Stories
by Laura Harkness
Summary: There are two kinds of people in the universe, those who tell stories and those who live them...
1. Chapter 1

**STORIES**

**Obligatory Disclaimer: **Inspired by, dedicated to and in the greatest respect of Doctor Who, Torchwood and especially David Tennant and John Barrowman, who play fictional characters that I make up stories about.

"_There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."  
Maya Angelou_

--

**Author's Note:**

Standalone but follows my story "Forgiveness."

--

**PROLOGUE**

There are two kinds of people in the universe, those who tell stories and those who live them.

The people who tell stories – the first category – have had all of the Story bled out of their lives. Instead they become fixated on sports or celebrities or fictional characters. It's the only way they can see themselves as part of an adventure. They have been molded into interchangeable pieces within systems that have sucked out any hope of unpredictability or randomness or hazard or even mystery from their existence.

You see, systems, whether they be economic or political or religious or social don't suffer their interchangeable components to be in stories of their own. If a cog in the machine comes home after work having been part of an exciting story, it would mean something had gone horribly, terribly wrong: a blackout, a strike, a spree killing, a plumbing catastrophe. Productivity would be disrupted. Complacency jeopardized.

Then there are the people who can't live without Story. I am one of those people. My name is John Hart. To be truthful, that's not my real name… it's just a name I wear these days. What's my real name, you ask? Well, it's been so long I don't really remember it, and it even if I did, it wouldn't be important. And actually, if you're interested – to be totally correct, I'm _Captain _John Hart, thank you very much. The "Captain" title was a sort of last minute add-on; an affectation, a bit of an indulgence conjured up on the fly, so to speak. It was in response to someone else putting on airs and calling himself Captain. But hell, for me it felt right at the time and it kind of fit, so I've kept it.

Regardless, like I said, my name isn't important. Who I am and what I do _is_ important. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I believe the universe revolves around me or anything like that. But I try to live a life, you know? I try to do different things with different people every day. I try to learn new stuff and be a part of a different adventure every single damn day. On any given day I can write an entire book about what I am thinking and feeling, and it would be completely different from the previous day's book. And I always try to keep moving forward – even if occasionally it seems I'm not moving forward fast enough, I'm always still working hard to move forward. I try to keep living my stories.

I wish I could take credit for this philosophy, this way of life, but I can't. I didn't invent it, although once I adopted it, made it my own, there was no doubt it fit me like a glove. It was like I was born to it: I only had to be shown the light, have my eyes opened… No, I can't take credit for it; this way of life was exposed and revealed to me by none other than Jack Harkness. Jack Harkness opened my eyes.

Here's an interesting fact you may not know: Jack Harkness – or as he prefers to be known, _Captain Jack Harkness_ – isn't his real name either. He sort of borrowed it, I guess you could say. Not that this detail is profoundly critical or anything. Are you doing okay coping with that? Going along with my insistence that monikers aren't all that important?

Good.

Jack Harkness was the person who enlightened me, who showed me the deep, breathtaking and indisputable truth about the difference between the people who tell stories and the people who live them. By becoming a part of his life, by walking at his side, by watching him be someone who can't live without Story, I changed. I became one of those people who live stories, too.

But I've also changed in lots of other ways. I don't want to bore you with the details, so I won't. If you don't know them already, you'll probably figure it out soon enough on your own. So pay attention, eh? I did want to stress, though, that each time I come into contact with Jack Harkness, as I continue to spend more time with him, I've continued to change. In fact, I've finally realized that I'm on a personal journey: a story within a story, you might say. As he moves forward, living his stories (and I am here to tell you that he moves forward prodigiously!), so do I. With all that forward motion, that relentless momentum, Jack is not the same man – and that is an understatement! – I first met all those years/centuries/millennia ago (or should I say years/centuries/millennia into the future?!). And I am not the same man that he first met. We are, both of us, evolving.

Now, before I bore you half to death, there's something else. Jack is special. Really special. As he's moved forward, whether with me walking at his side or on his own or with innumerable others, he's had some amazing adventures – he's had the most incredible and astonishing things happen to him. Want a few examples? Well, try this one on for size: Jack's basically immortal and he's died and resurrected, well, more times than you can shake a stick at. And let me tell you, although Jack always looks marvelous, being almost immortal is a lot harder than it appears. Jack has experienced people and lived events that could make a sane man mad, and a mad man psychopathic. He's taken on challenges, defied beasts and fought battles that make my blood run cold. When I tell you he's not the same person I first met, I am profoundly understating the fact. And I'm not sure anyone really, truly, absolutely comprehends who and what Captain Jack Harkness really is… Maybe – probably – not even Jack Harkness.

And even if you do figure it out, on some given day figure out who Jack Harkness really is, be aware that a day later it'll be stale information and you'll be wrong.

But there is one last fantastically interesting thing I must tell you about my friend and occasional lover Jack Harkness. Somehow he's not only become someone who lives his stories, he also has a propensity to tell them. He's the most amazing and rare of amalgams. Through Jack's stories, if you listen carefully enough, you just might learn who you are and where you are and where you are going. When he looks at you with those hypnotic blue eyes and begins to weave a tale, know that in his words he will not only reveal things about himself – if you're lucky! – but about your own self as well. Also be aware that not all those things you learn about yourself will be _good_ things. What more can I say? That's how it is. He's special.

**ONE**

Captain Jack Harkness took a sip of coffee, leaned back in his chair and looked up at the Eiffel Tower.

"Ah, I love Paris in the springtime," he sighed melodically.

"A bit boring if you ask me," his companion smiled thinly as he swirled around what was left of the hot cocoa in his cup.

"What was that, Doctor?"

"I'm just saying, twenty-fourth century France is a bit, if you don't mind me saying so," the Time Lord inhaled loudly through his nose, "well… quiet."

"Oh _well_ yourself. I chose the year 2364 on purpose, just because it _is_ so quiet!" Jack had a peevish sound to his voice but his eyes were sparkling.

The Time Lord set his cup down on the table and shrugged. "I'm not complaining, Captain. The hot chocolate and the croissants are marvelous. Even better than I remember them."

Jack looked at his friend curiously, "When were you last here?"

"Ah! Ages ago. Regenerations ago. It would've been back in the latter part of the twentieth century – 1978 or 1979 or thereabouts…"

The Doctor's eyes became slightly unfocused as he stared off into the distance.

"And…?" Jack urged him to continue.

"Well, Romana and I got into a bit of a pickle with a green, tentacled, one-eyed monster."

Jack laughed out loud but then turned a tad more serious. "Romana? That's the Romanadvora…"

"Romanadvoratrelundar," The Doctor helped him.

"Right! The Romanadvoratrelundar you mentioned, um, earlier?"

"Yes, the one and the same. Well… actually the second Romana. You see she regenerated…"

"She was a Time Lord then?"

"Yes, indeed! A Time Lord and my companion. Although she was assigned to me only as an assistant at first… But eventually she became much more to me than just that."

Jack's smile was almost but not quite wicked, "More than a mere companion, you say?"

"Yes…" The Doctor's voice trailed off and Jack left him with his reminiscences for a short time before bringing the Time Lord back into the conversation.

"And the two of you came to Paris?"

"Oh yes! It was indeed magnificent! We sat for hours at outdoor cafes just like this one, watching the world go by. We had a marvelous time! Well, as marvelous as one might manage when one ends up fighting a nasty green cyclopean creature. Romana… Well… She's gone, now…"

"How did she come to leave you, Doctor?" Jack's curiosity was getting the better of him. He knew the conversation was skating on thin ice. The Doctor often, almost always, refused to talk about his past. On the other hand, departing companions were a topic of considerable interest – something that intrigued the Captain, not that he had any intention…

"She wanted to go and help these people who'd been cruelly enslaved – they were called the Tharils. Romana was always going around wanting to help people – so I left her in a different space, a different dimension, along with my robotic dog."

Jack made a face, "You had a robot dog?"

"Yep. His name was K-9." He shook his head glumly.

A sad Time Lord was not what Jack had in mind for company. The Captain was already beginning to regret prodding The Doctor for the anecdote.

"But Doctor! If Romana was in another dimension – mightn't she have survived the Time War?"

The Time Lord gazed deeply into the Captain's eyes. Jack realized with a start that the Doctor was deciding how much more of the tale to tell, how much more of the sadness to share, how much more of himself to reveal.

"Doctor?" Jack's voice was soft, barely audible, encouraging.

"Romana eventually returned to Gallifrey. She was President of the Time Lords during the Time War. She's dead Jack, dead along with all the others. They all perished when I…"

Involuntarily Jack reached for the Time Lord's hand and to his surprise it remained in place on the table as he gently covered it with his own. "Don't say it," Jack half-whispered. "You know it's not true."

"Oh but it is." The Doctor's face was cool, unreadable. "They're all gone. I am the killer of my own kind. I have accepted it, and so should you."

Jack recognized an attempt at intimidation when he saw one and he would not back down. Nor, he decided, would he remove his hand. This was serious, this was real, this was life but this was also, he knew, a game. And, as always, a competition…

"But, Doctor, the Dalek Emperor, the Cult of Skaro, Dalek Caan, Davros, even that bloody psychopathic freak the Master all managed to survive the Time War. You say _all of them _but how can you be so sure? We've learned there were places to hide – places like the Void, and at the end of the universe. Maybe there were other places. We've learned there are secrets hidden everywhere. How can you know with absolute certainty that you're alone?"

The Doctor rotated his hand and tenderly squeezed Jack's fingers before smoothly retracting his arm back and away from the tabletop. "I don't Jack. Not really. But it's what I need to believe. Does that make sense?"

Jack's exposed hand suddenly felt naked. He brought it to his chest and crossed his other arm over it, as if trying to warm himself up from a chill. A part of him wanted to shake his head but instead he nodded and lied. "Yes, it does. I'm sorry for asking…"

"Never be sorry, Jack. I didn't have to answer you. I wanted to. But I think that's enough storytelling for now… unless you want to buy me another cup of hot cocoa and attempt to weasel something else out of me?" The Doctor smiled brightly and the grin was contagious.

"I think we've had enough spirits for now, Doctor."

Jack's pun was not lost on the Time Lord, who chuckled softly. "In the twenty-fourth century the Louvre is still one of the greatest museums on the planet. How about we take in some of that good old Earth art and culture, Captain?"

The response was a silent but enthusiastic nod.

"Good!" The Doctor unfolded out of his chair and stretched his back. "Perhaps a brisk stroll and then… Well! Along the way I actually do have quite an amazing story I can tell you about when I met Leonardo Da Vinci and defaced the Mona Lisa!"

"What?!" Jack stood up.

"Oh, I might be exaggerating just a wee bit. Still, it's a great story! Do you want to hear it or not?"

Jack threw a couple of coins on the table and shrugged on his greatcoat. "Always, Doctor. Always."


	2. Chapter 2

**STORIES**

**TWO**

John Hart shivered, opened his eyes, and pushed himself up off his knees into a standing position.

He looked down at the grave marker on the ground in front of him. It was small, almost unnoticeable. Etched onto its face were a name and an epitaph -- the epitaph written in an obscure, ancient, and for Captain John Hart, an undecipherable language of a planet eons away. Universes away.

Wil Beinert  
Hodie mihi, cras tibi

An unsuccessfully stifled sob escaped his throat as he tried to blink away stinging tears.

John stared at the form and texture of the words, searing them into his memory. He shivered again. Although he was freezing cold he felt burning hot at the same time. The disjunction was strange, weird. He trembled yet felt so incredibly overheated that his skin was covered with sweat. He felt it pouring down his shoulders, back and chest.

He was naked, but somehow that didn't seem so very odd… Although it occurred to him that his nakedness might explain why he was so cold. But if so, then why was he burning up, too? His eyes, swollen and scratchy from crying, slowly tracked from the tombstone to his body: pale, slender and covered with familiar scars. Each scar had a story – its own tale of pain locked away in his memory. Pick the lock and you pick a scab – or more likely rend asunder an open wound; the psychic equivalent of third-degree burns.

_John…_ he said to himself. _You're wallowing in self-pity, John. Indulging in terminal defeatism. That's not normal, John… It's not like you, John…_

The voice was insistent, annoying, grating.

"John? John? John!"

With a jolt he opened his eyes and woke up. What he saw was a vision of heaven: a beloved face with bluish-green eyes haloed by long tangled locks of red hair. The face itself displayed a definite and undeniable expression of distress.

"John?!"

"Wil!" It was more of a gasp than a spoken word.

"Are you okay?"

With an elbow he raised himself partially off the bed and blinked at her. "Yeah, I am. Whew, I guess I was having a dream."

She looked at him, worry still monopolizing her features, "That must've been some dream. You're soaking wet, John. You've soaked right through the bed linens." Wil Beinert shook her head, "And you were moaning stuff in your sleep that I couldn't quite make out."

John smiled and winked, trying to allay if not vanquish her concerns.

"You know men and their dreams."

"Yes I do," she answered as she gently wiped off some of the moisture from his brow with her fingertips, and then traced a line down his jaw to his lips. "And that was not one of _those_ dreams, John. What's going on?"

His smile vanished as quickly as it'd formed and he shook his head. "I dreamt that I saw something, something not nice."

With her hand she gently pressed his torso back down onto the bed and then repositioned her face close to his as she began stroking his neck and shoulders. "Tell me," she whispered, "tell me about this not nice thing you saw."

He nodded almost imperceptibly. "It was a gravestone. I was standing in front of a gravestone and it had some words on it." He scowled. "I didn't understand them and I'm not absolutely certain, but I think maybe they were Latin."

"Do you remember the letters?"

He nodded and then laboriously, almost painfully, started spelling out the epitaph for her.

John hadn't even finished spelling the third word when Wil nodded her head and interrupted him. "Ah. You're correct, it is Latin."

"Well, what does it mean?"

"It's a famous old epitaph. It means literally 'It is my lot today, yours tomorrow'. Or to put it more coarsely: 'Today me, tomorrow you'. It's a warning to the living, basically, and the warning is that everybody dies. In comparison to the more gentle epitaphs like 'Requiescat in pace' or 'Rest in peace' it's considered darker… cruder… nastier… spookier. And you're right," she breathed, "it's not a very nice thing."

She looked at him levelly. "Was that all?"

Although he was tempted, John knew he couldn't lie to this woman with the hothouse green, electric turquoise and speckled gold eyes. Those eyes that peered so cleanly and effortlessly into his soul. He couldn't lie to her and in fact when it came right down to it, he didn't want to lie to her. It felt good for once to be able to be totally truthful with someone. It was a relief to not have to worry about making up lies. To not have to worry about keeping track of them. To not have to worry about what happens when the lies are discovered, the truth found out.

No, that's not all," he said.

She waited patiently.

He met her gaze and held it firmly. "Your name was inscribed above the epitaph."

Nothing in her eyes, or in fact her face, changed. But that's not saying she didn't react. Her fingers, which had been caressing his upper arm, stopped moving for the briefest moment. That was it. That was all. But he noticed it immediately. The tiniest of reactions – almost a non-reaction – but it spoke volumes.

He lifted his arm, caught her hand and pressed it first to his lips and then held it to his cheek. "It's just a dream, M'Lady," he murmured. "Nothing more."

He kissed her lightly and then kissed her again more deeply. But she pulled back from him and shook her head.

"I should've never brought you here," she said. "This place, this terrible place and this horrible, horrible, endless war. All these battered souls and shattered lives. All these worlds driven to their knees. A place where the only dreams are nightmares." She blinked back tears. "It is a dreadful place to fall in love."

He waited a tick before smiling at her; that was his way of making sure she knew he took her seriously. "There's no such thing as a bad place in this or any other universe to fall in love with you. And as long as we're together, everything is going to be all right, I promise. Now come here and let me kiss you properly."

He cupped her face between his hands and pressed his body against hers. They made love slowly, tenderly, and when they awoke several hours later, they were still embracing each other.


	3. Chapter 3

**STORIES**

**THREE**

The two men were sitting on a bench overlooking the Seine. It was nearly sunrise. Off to their left, the sky was luminescent purplish, washed of stars. To the right, a few bright stars and planets still shone, striving against the light of the coming day, succumbing one by one as the minutes went by.

Springtime in Paris at 5:00 a.m. is not a particularly warm time. Both men were wrapped up in their long coats; hands plunged deep into their pockets. The clothing insufficient in itself to keep away the chill, The Doctor and Captain Jack Harkness were sitting very close together, sharing body heat, their upper arms and thighs lightly touching.

For the longest time there was a comfortable silence between them. The only sounds those of a sleepily stirring city and the bird population, which was starting to waken to a new day. Oh, and the rhythmic, almost synchronized sound of the two men's breathing.

Each was lost in his own thoughts, each probably secretly wondering, if you really pressed him, what the other was thinking about. Neither man was particularly anxious to break the spell. When it did happen, when someone finally spoke out loud, it was The Doctor.

"So, Jack?"

There was a soft rustling of wool as Jack roused himself and shifted his body. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Have you had enough of Paris?"

"Never, Doctor."

"Ah!"

"Are you asking me if I'm ready to leave?"

The Doctor nodded. "That's pretty much what I thought I was asking you."

Jack pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "I guess I might be. I admit I'm kind of all museum-ed out."

Again The Doctor nodded, but this time there was only silence in response.

"So," said Jack after a long pause, "where to next?"

The Doctor turned his head and looked at Jack almost dreamily. "Hmm?"

"Where do you want to go next?" Jack asked a bit more forthrightly, perhaps even a tad petulantly.

"Funny," brown eyes met blue and held them. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Jack smiled and resisted an urge to roll his eyes. "You know, Doctor, I'm wondering if we need to work on our social contract, or at the very least if you need to give me some secret sign when you're jerking my chain."

The Doctor smiled in return. "Social contract? Sounds boring, Jack. And what fun would secret signs be? I think our relationship is fine just the way it is, don't you?" A raised eyebrow accentuated the question.

Jack shook his head, "I'm not complaining."

"I know," said The Doctor, suddenly turning serious. "But are you lonely, Jack?"

The Captain hadn't anticipated the question and involuntarily flinched. He looked away for a moment and then looked back at his precious Time Lord, confusion and even more complicated feelings playing across his face. "I'm not sure how to answer that."

"Jack, you don't have to hold back on me. You don't have to be afraid to talk to me."

"I don't! I'm not!"

"Are you lonely, Jack?"

"I have all that I want, Doctor."

"Yes, but do you have all that you _need_?"

Jack's eyes flashed. "Where is this conversation going?"

The Doctor softened both his countenance and his voice. "Jack… what went on between you and John before Wil showed up… Why did you feel you had to hide it from me?"

As Jack moved to disagree, The Doctor waved him off. "You'll recall I have _very_ good hearing. Not that I really needed it considering the noise the two of you made."

Captain Jack Harkness shivered, but not from the cold. "Oh God," he breathed. "None of us was thinking straight at the time. But I know that's not an excuse, and that what John said is true – the devices implanted in our brains couldn't make us do stuff we didn't want to do, or feel stuff we didn't want to feel…"

"Jack, you don't have to hide things from me. I don't want you to hide things from me."

"It cuts both ways, you know?" Jack's voice was husky, low, emotional.

"Yes, I know it does. But it has to start somewhere, begin somehow, doesn't it? So, Jack, tell me, I'm asking you," The Doctors voice was whisper soft, almost inaudible. "How _are _you?"

Jack tried to blink back the tears but was unsuccessful. "I miss John. I miss Wil. Hell, I even miss Ianto." He smiled thinly. "And I love you, Doctor, and I want you, and I don't think I'm ever going to stop loving you or wanting you."

The Doctor smiled gently in return. "From where I sit, being loved and wanted by Captain Jack Harkness isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's not bad at all. I love you too, Jack. And if there was anyone in this universe that I'd want, if I could want someone, it would be you."

Jack closed his eyes in pain and shook his head. The Doctor impulsively reached for the Captain's arm and wrapped his fingers around it. "But I don't have that ability inside of me. I haven't had it for a long, long time, Jack. And no… this isn't one of those pathetic 'it's not you, it's me' conversations. There are times when I wish it was different, when I wish _I_ was different, but I won't lie to you Jack: there are big chunks of me missing. Maybe some day, whether it's this life or some future one, I'll find them again. Who knows? Maybe you'll help me find them just like you've helped me find the ability to openly and without any apprehension say 'I love you'. Whenever I do find those missing pieces, Jack, I hope you're there with me. But in the meantime I need to tell you – I need you to believe that I won't be disapproving. I won't be jealous. I won't be resentful. And I won't hold you back. I want you to have both what you want _and_ what you need.

"Although I do reserve the right to make the occasional snide remark…"

As Jack looked again into The Doctor's eyes he saw tears that matched his own. "You know," the Captain said, "I think I just realized something."

"And what's that?"

"I think it might be harder to be you than it is to be me."

"Oh no, I believe you've definitely won that particular competition."

"You think?"

"Yep, pretty much."

Jack pursed his lips and nodded. But he said nothing.

"So, Jack?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Where do you want to go next?"

"I want to go home, Doctor."

Confusion played briefly across the Time Lord's visage as he withdrew his hand. "What? Earth? But…"

"No Doctor, not Earth. I mean my real home – the Boeshane Peninsula – back before it was invaded. Before it was destroyed. I want to go _home_."

"Oh God," sighed The Doctor. "Not again."


	4. Chapter 4

**STORIES**

**FOUR**

The Erasmii were being, well, irascible.

Their world, Erasmus, was a sparsely populated, peaceful, quiet place in a remote corner of a peaceful, quiet star system that just happened to be in the way of the hell-bent Aedui horde.

In the not-too distant past the Erasmii had migrated to this planet, leaving behind a home brimming with too many people and too few resources, setting out to explore a new frontier and finally settling down in comfort and if not opulence, at least abundance.

To her great horror and never-ending shame it had not occurred to Wil Beinert that by stymieing the fearsome "Devourers of Souls" (as the Time Lords had named the Aedui) in her own universe, her own cosmos, that she would be provoking the murderous invaders into a state of unmitigated fury in another, different cosmos. A fury which roused the Aedui to become even more mind-numbingly brutal and terrifying than they'd been. Thousands of worlds had been ruthlessly laid to waste. Trillions of lives obliterated. The gruesomeness was unfathomable.

Everything that had been whispered or rumored about the Aedui had turned out to be true. _Or worse._ And once the multitude had crossed over from their home in the darkness of subspace to this bright and heavily populated universe, there was, as advertised, no stopping them.

All that could be done was to try to move people out of the way and pray that eventually the invaders would get bored, or grow tired, or simply become satiated, and retreat back into the darkness from whence they came.

But the Erasmii, so clearly and dreadfully among next targets of these most relentless of attackers, were being irascible.

And it was driving Wil crazy.

"You must understand," she was saying emphatically to the Erasmus leader, "that in this situation death is not the worst-case scenario. Not by a long shot. Once the Aedui enter your system your people will be captured, tortured and horridly abused. Your civilization will be eradicated, your planet annihilated. No living thing will be safe within dozens of parsecs. There will be nowhere to run and nowhere to hide."

Halikaarn Jaad looked at her through opaque eyes while he listened to the words she spoke through a translation device and nodded – a human gesture he had picked up from Wil and John since their arrival on Erasmus a few days earlier. The slowness of the communication was bedeviling Wil Beinert. It irked her that he had insisted on using his own translation methods rather than rely on hers. The Halikaarn's stubbornness and inflexibility was perturbing her. In fact EVERYTHING was annoying her.

"If we start now, we can try to get as many of your people as possible out of the way of the oncoming invasion fleet and relocated to safety. But with all due respect, Jaad, we must start immediately; otherwise too soon it will be too late. Please, Halikaarn," she begged, "let us help you!"

John reached out, found her hand and grasped it firmly. She'd said all she could say. They waited for the Erasmus leader to respond and for the device to translate his words. When they finally came, they were not the words that Wil Beinert had wanted to hear.

"We understand what you're saying, but we do not wish to be torn away from our world. We will trust to our gods that we will be cared for and protected, but if not, then we will die in our own homes. This is what we prefer. This is what we have decided." There was a long pause while the translation device caught up to the Halikaarn's words and then regurgitated them. "We are grateful for your offer, and we appreciate your warning. If nothing else it gives us time to prepare."

Wil fumed in silent frustration and distress. She simply could not get through to them the terrors which were waiting on their doorstep.

John squeezed her hand. He was there to support her, but in general since their arrival in this – "her" – universe he'd stepped back and allowed Wil to take the lead. This wasn't because he was chauvinistic or intimidated, or because he felt powerless or even bored. Rather this was John Hart the consummate opportunist taking the time and making the effort to learn everything he could in the hope that he might be useful if the occasion presented itself. This was his normal _modus operandi_, a rational process: the meticulous marshaling of evidence, the careful weighing of options. It was his tried and true method for winning.

Although admittedly he didn't hold out much hope for success in this particular situation. The two of them had visited a handful of the star systems the Aedui had already exterminated. He'd never seen anything like it, and that's saying a lot because he'd witnessed some terrible things in his life. Vibrant, thriving civilizations simply gone; wiped off the star charts. Nothing remaining but the whispers. And the cold, dead rocks forlornly orbiting lonely stars in empty space.

It broke his heart because it broke Wil's heart. He watched her grieve for people she had known, places she had visited. He watched her grieve equally for people and places she'd not known. He watched as desolation seeped into her soul.

It broke his heart to watch her become bereft of new possibilities and new beginnings. It broke his heart to watch her come to feel that the moment was full only with endings.

It broke his heart to watch her realize that her attempt to make things better back in his (and, incidentally her!) home universe had made things so very much worse in this one. Her guilt was unassailable.

He had tried his best to comfort her, but there was in truth so very little he could do. His words fell on, if not unhearing, uncomprehending ears. His love, though eagerly accepted and energetically returned, could not fill the emptiness hollowed out by overwhelming sadness and despair. It became clear what she needed was to_ do_ something… anything… everything to help. He didn't deny he felt that same desire. Any people they managed to save would be a reprieve, a marvel, a blessing, a miracle. And a small victory against an opponent that clearly outmatched them.

Also becoming apparent to John was a fundamental difference between them. Where he typically worked through matters in his usual rational and deliberate way, she often acted impulsively; her humanity and thus her emotions driving her. And lately those emotions were running in high gear. There was no judgment here on his part, just an observation.

Their first attempt to act had ended in abject failure, not due to irascibility but rather to that far more ubiquitous nemesis: Time. To put it bluntly, they had not moved fast enough. It was as simple as that. That is, if the destruction of an entire world along with its entire population by way of bloody conflagration could be labeled "simple".

At least as far as her assessment went, they'd not been quick enough. It was a terrible blow and a wrenching defeat. But in his mind… well… it was possible they had in fact been too hasty, too impulsive. Especially considering what ended up happening…

It was even worse than it might've been because while they were ultimately unsuccessful in saving that doomed world's people, they _had_ been given sufficient time to warn the Gnel as to what was coming. Unsurprisingly, across the planet, uncontrollable mass panic had ensued. It'd been a terrible, frightful mess. A dreadful, eventually unavoidable disaster made so much worse by paralyzing foreknowledge. Due to sheer luck a few Gnel individuals, a small visiting delegation, had made it out alive on Grasshopper – by chance having been aboard when the Aedui fleet of death unexpectedly descended out of the skies and onto their world. But even that small "victory" was bittersweet – for the survivors' families had been lost. Wil and John delivered the unfortunate and now destitute souls to Orolo – a tranquil, peace-loving planet in a distant part of the galaxy. The native inhabitants were incredibly sympathetic and welcoming, but the Gnel refugees were like the walking dead.

John wasn't sure what made him do it, because it felt slightly incautious – like a thing she would do, not he. It came out of nowhere, but he released Wil's hand and took a step forward toward the Erasmii leader, "Halikaarn Jaad, if you won't accept our offer to transport your people, perhaps you will consider your children? Will you allow us to take them to safety?"

He waited calmly while the translation device did its work and then as Jaad thought over the offer.


	5. Chapter 5

**STORIES**

**FIVE**

Jack pulled a face. "Why do you say that, Doctor?"

"Say what?"

"'Oh God, not again'…?"

"Because I am _more_ than sufficiently familiar with you humans, Jack. And don't tell me you aren't a human just because of your somewhat peculiar superpower! You're more human than anyone else I know. And even if you're not thinking about it or planning it, and even if you've got absolutely zero intention of doing it, when I take you back there I guarantee you're going to try to change something. Just like the human that you are, you'll try to change something that happened and you'll make an unholy mess of things…"

"But…"

"But nothing, Jack! Now don't get me wrong, your intentions will be good. They'll be honorable and they'll be logical and lucid. No, your intentions will indeed be laudable. But regardless, you'll do something that will create a paradox. You'll make a mess of things and it will be left up to me to try to fix them. Only, and this is the news flash, Captain: I may not be able to fix them. The Time Lords used to be able to prevent such catastrophes, or if not, at least repair the timescape when things went seriously amuck. The Time Lords, bless their stony little hearts, could control the cascading repercussions of paradoxes. But I'm just one Time Lord, Jack. And my ability to fix paradoxes and other nasty spacetime screw-ups is limited. I'm not a god, Jack! I'm not omnipotent!"

"Calm down, Doctor, calm down!" The Captain raised his hands, palms facing outward, his face a mixture of concern and shock. "Where is all this coming from?"

"As if you didn't know!" The Doctor paused and reflected. "Well… Now that I think of it, I guess you don't know do you?"

Jack shook his head, only half-amused, "No, Doctor, I don't have a clue."

"It was Rose. She was human… she was so very human. I shouldn't have expected anything else from her. She ripped open a hole in time, and as a result we nearly lost her home world. In 1987 we almost destroyed the entire Earth! I watched it happen, powerless; she wouldn't listen to me and I couldn't do anything to stop her!"

"Doctor, don't you trust me?" Jack's voice was filled with apprehension.

"Don't take everything so personally, Jack! Of course I trust you. Well… I trust you as much as I trust any human. But don't you see? I trusted Rose, too! At that juncture I was only concerned for her emotional well-being, it never dawned on me that she might rip open an unhealable wound in time. The destruction of Gallifrey and the loss of the stabilizing influence of the Time Lords mean that anyone can go back in time and redo their own actions! They can go back in time and royally screw things up! Do you understand how dangerous that is? It's why that vortex manipulator of yours makes me so nervous. I might not be able to prevent a disaster and if one occurs I might not be able to fix it."

"Doctor," Jack wiggled an extended index finger in the air back and forth between the Time Lord and himself. "Our social contract implies reciprocated duties, shared responsibilities. You can believe me when I tell you that I won't create a paradox. You can trust me. And I promise I won't let you down. I understand your concerns. Hell, I agree with them! And I certainly understand that without the Time Lords messy things like paradoxes become even more dangerous than they used to be. I _do_ take this personally, Doctor, and I'm here to tell you that I'm not Rose. But let me work this out with you; let's work this out together. I'm not asking you to take me back to cross my own timeline."

"You're not?"

"No. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to go back to just before the Peninsula was colonized. I'm imagining the two of us sitting on the sand dunes and watching the surf. Listening to the tall, dry, beach grass rustle in the on-shore breeze. According to the first settlers, it was supposed to have been stunningly beautiful. Wild, wind-swept and breathtaking. That's what I want to see. That's what I envision us doing. Salt water and sand, Doctor. That's all. Just salt water and sand… and the two of us."

"Sand you say? Wind-swept?"

"Yeah," Jack tipped his head. "But hey, I'll even bring along a beach blanket for us to sit on if you want."

"Or maybe a couple of beach chairs?"

"And fancy blender drinks with little tiny parasols in them?" Jack grinned boyishly.

The Doctor laughed, but then studied the Captain scrupulously. "I'm sorry to have ranted at you like that."

"It's okay, Doctor. That's what I'm here for. But Rose really threw you for a loop, huh?"

"Oh, that's an understatement, Captain."

Jack nodded thoughtfully and then asked, "So how'd you get out of it?"

"Well, basically," The Doctor took a deep breath and swallowed. "Her father, Pete Tyler, committed suicide."

Jack's eyes opened wide. "Wow!"

"Yeah… Wow."

"I don't know what to say…"

"We got off easy, Jack. It could've been worse. Far, far worse."

"I believe you, I believe you. And again, Doctor, although I fully admit that I'm human, I am _not_ Rose."

"I know that… because if you were…" his voice trailed off.

"Well, Doctor!" Jack was surprised to see The Doctor's cheeks pink up a tiny bit in response to his playful teasing.

The Time Lord quickly, maybe a little too quickly, shot him a wicked smile, "I'm just kidding!"

_Yeah, right,_ Jack thought. "An enigma," is what he actually said.

"Why thank you!"

"You're welcome."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, "Shall we go?"

Jack nodded soundlessly and the two men stood up simultaneously and walked in lockstep away from the bench, Paris, and for the time being, the watery third planet out from Mother Sol.


	6. Chapter 6

**STORIES**

**SIX**

_Sotto voce_, Wil moved close to him, "What are you doing, John?"

"Shush," he whispered. Then just at that moment, it dawning on him what in fact he actually was doing, he added, "I'm using a page from the official Captain Jack Harkness playbook."

"_What?_"

"I'm punting."

"John, do you even know what the word _punting_ means?"

He leaned in closer, shoulder touching shoulder, "Um… no. Not really. But I know it has something to do with looking really good when everything else around you is going to hell."

Her eyes flashed but she said nothing because they both happened to notice Halikaarn Jaad staring at them, or at least he was openly observing them with what _appeared_ to be a pronounced stare. You know aliens: sometimes it is kind of hard to tell for sure what they're doing…

"Childrrrennn," he said. It was not the translator, it was Jaad himself, and working hard at it too, it was obvious. "Childrrrennnn," he nodded exaggeratedly. "Yesssss…" There was sibilance in his voice but the words were unmistakable. "We agreeeee…"

Wil met John's eyes and she shivered involuntarily. Perhaps she had gotten through to the Erasmii leader after all, but this outcome was not among the set of possible outcomes she'd hypothesized. While the response should've made her feel better, it instead filled her with dread. But she could tell just by glancing at his face that maybe, just maybe, John believed it was better than nothing; the problem was that she wasn't at all sure she agreed.

"John," she murmured. "How are we…? What are we…?"

He raised his hand and touched her cheek with his fingertips. "A first step, this is only a first step, Wil. Let us try to embrace more modest desires and expectations for the time being." She shook her head but he continued, his eyes conveying his strength and certitude, although his voice was gentle, soft. "I know you're anxious, I feel and share your need to act. And don't doubt it, we are. This is just a beginning, but it's a _good_ beginning. And it beats the crap out of a story full of endings."

He sensed a slight calmness washing over her and she smiled, albeit only half-heartedly.

John Hart dropped his hand and turned again to Halikaarn Jaad, who was waiting patiently while they'd taken their discussion off-line, so to speak. The two of them had learned early on that the Erasmii gracefully tolerated these very private conversations made in distinctly public venues. It was a cultural thing, John believed, related to how close together they still lived – even after immigrating to a new and wide-open frontier it seemed they required very little "personal space" because a deep respect of privacy was so profoundly engrained in their psyches. Or at least in the beginning he'd believed his conversations with Wil to be private; now he wasn't as sure as evidenced by the Halikaarn's rather startling use of English. Still, in the end the confidentiality hardly mattered. There were no secrets being kept here, there simply was no time for them.

"That's a good decision," John said slowly, as he took several steps toward the Halikaarn. He noticed the translator was quiet but Jaad was looking at him intently and undoubtedly following his words. "We'll transport your children as soon as possible to a safe haven, a safe world, a planet we know of called Orolo." He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Wil and she nodded in agreement.

Then John added something Wil absolutely did not agree with. Although she was not within his field of vision, he knew exactly how her eyes, her face, and her body language changed when he uttered his next two sentences. "My friend will escort your children to safety in her ship. I'll stay here with you for the time being and assist with the preparations to defend your world."

Halikaarn Jaad nodded once then turned and left the room, his assistants soundlessly trailing after him with the last one closing the door behind them. And it was probably a good thing he closed that door because Wil's voice suddenly was quite loud.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

John turned to face her, took a deep breath and although it didn't come easily to him, forced his tone to be tranquil, reasonable. "I'm trying to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat."

"You're talking like Jack."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he responded, even though it hadn't sounded much like one. In fact it had sounded more like an insult.

She said nothing.

"Listen," he explained, taking one of her hands between his. "I have a plan. I'm sorry but it just came to me and there wasn't time to discuss it with you. Let's round up their kids and have you take them to Orolo. I'll stay here and continue to work on the Halikaarn and the rest of the Erasmii. Once their children are gone, they may be more amenable to abandoning their home. After you return we'll try again to get them to leave. If it doesn't work out… well, we've given it our best shot and at least their children will be safe. What do you say, Wil? It's worth a try, isn't it?"

She closed her eyes for a short time and then opened them again. The golds and blues were muted, and she was blinking back tears. "Oh John, I'm sorry. You're right. It's a good plan and I'm so very sorry for snapping at you." She shook her head angrily, "I don't know what's wrong with me… I feel so out of control."

"Come here," he said, opening his arms wide to her. She allowed him to envelope her in his warmth and he felt her body relax as he held her close. "What do I always tell you," he breathed into her hair. "Everything is going to be all right."

She pulled back and smiled at him. "That's a song by Bob Marley," she said. When John shook his head uncomprehendingly, she sang a snippet of lyrics:

_Don't worry about a thing,  
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right…_

He smiled back at her, "Catchy tune."

She kissed him deeply and he resolutely returned the sentiment. After the kiss ended, John lightly touched his forehead to hers. "I'm going to miss you. Hurry back home to me and don't be late."

As he always did when they were about to separate, he unbuckled his wristband and fastened it around her wrist.

Then he kissed her again.


	7. Chapter 7

**STORIES**

**SEVEN**

"Jack!" the Time Lord hollered from the TARDIS control room. "Are you coming any time soon, or should I go ahead and start _War and Peace_?"

The Doctor was sitting on the floor, petting Spike, who'd padded over to him in hope of food but since it wasn't yet dinnertime had to instead be content with a vigorous rub on the head. The rub was indeed acceptable but as it happened an attempt at a more energetic form of cuddling was not, and the cat made the extent of his displeasure clearly known over a grab-and-hug incursion with a swipe of his paw and a frigid green-eyed stare.

It seemed The Doctor had had enough too. He shooed Spike off his lap, brushed the cat hair off his pants and gracefully rose off the floor. "Jack!" he bellowed again.

Simultaneously with his name being evoked the Captain strode into the room and as he did The Doctor had to suppress a powerful urge to laugh.

"Jack! You're wearing…"

"Shorts?"

"Shorts!"

"And?"

"Well…" The Doctor grimaced. "Human males should not wear shorts."

Jack looked down at his legs. "Why? What's wrong with them?"

"What's RIGHT with them?"

"Erm… well, they're comfortable. They're cool. They ventilate. And they show off my most excellent tush."

Now The Doctor did laugh out loud.

"Are you laughing with me or at me, Doctor?"

"Oh, Jack… I'm laughing at you."

Again Jack looked down at his legs. "Are my legs really that bad?"

Tears were now running down The Doctor's face. "No Jack, your legs aren't really that bad. As long as they're safely ensconced in a nicely pressed pair of Dockers, they're absolutely beautiful legs."

"You don't like the shorts?"

"No, Jack."

"Is it the color?"

"No, Jack."

"The pattern?"

"No, Jack."

"You want me to change?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Jack shrugged. "Okay, well… Hey, I'm glad you care so much."

"Oh, I care a lot, Jack." The Doctor smiled and it was a beautiful and heartfelt smile.

"I guess I'll go change then…" Jack paused for a few seconds, making sure it wasn't really some sort of joke. Then he shrugged again, turned and walked out of the control room.

The Doctor yelled after him, "Don't forget the beach chairs! And the beach umbrellas!"

Then he looked around for Spike, who'd apparently taken the opportunity to flee. With no cat to torture, or rather shall we say rub, and nothing else much better to do, The Doctor paced back and forth across the room a couple of times and then finally walked down the ramp and threw open the doors.

Somehow, although his voice was softer, it carried farther. "Jack?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Could you come here?"

"But I'm not yet…"

"Jack, could you come here please?"

"Yes, of course, Doctor."

Once more the Captain entered the room. He was half-dressed and barefoot. He tucked in his t-shirt and zipped up his trousers as he quickly padded across the floor toward The Doctor. Jack had finished tucking and zipping, but had not yet pulled up his suspenders as he joined his friend at the entrance and looked outside.

Something was terribly wrong.

Jack shook his head and frowned. "Doctor, where are we?"

There were no beach grasses. There were no sand dunes. There was no ocean. There was no peninsula.

Instead the view that met his eyes was lifeless, rocky, nightmarish devastation. The craggy ground, interrupted from place to place by tall spires of black stone, was a slightly darker burnt-red color than the moonless sky above it.

As the two men stood and stared, a white flash of ball lightning streaked and crackled across the sky.

"Doctor?"

"I believe we're on the Boeshane Peninsula, Jack. Exactly one hundred years before it was settled by your forbearers."

"It can't be."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes and looked closely at Jack, "Oh, but it can."

It was the tone of voice. Jack turned and looked at the Time Lord.

"What?"

"That's my question."

Jack was thoroughly mystified. First his home and now his Doctor was making no sense.

"What do you mean?"

"Jack – something unimaginable has happened to your home world's past and yet here you are, apparently untouched and intact."

"So?"

The Doctor looked upset, suspicious. "If what we're seeing is true, and I have absolutely no reason to believe otherwise, to not believe my own eyes, then you shouldn't be here Captain."

"Oh, gee. Thanks."

"No, seriously. Now you really are an impossible thing, Jack. You're from the Boeshane Peninsula. But the Boeshane Peninsula doesn't and apparently won't _ever_ exist. Not when it looks like this. _This_ isn't even capable of supporting single-cell life, much less human beings and other complex life forms. It could've never been colonized and you would've never been born.

"No, something horrible has happened here and, I'm sorry to say it Captain, but you're the prime suspect since _you_ still exist. That's a fact of life. And the undeniable nature of paradox."

"A fact of Time Lord life, maybe, but not my life!"

The Doctor said nothing.

The Captain shook his head and glared angrily at the Lord of Time, "_So?_"

"So, Jack. What have you done?"


	8. Chapter 8

**STORIES**

**EIGHT**

Wil Beinert found herself once again astonished at the kindness and generosity of the Orolo people.

When unannounced and unexpected she delivered over 50,000 refugee children into their safekeeping, the Orolo were gracious, caring, sympathetic and welcoming. There was no hesitation; no furtive glances or covert whispers. The warm sentiments and unwavering willingness to help were immediate and unquestionable.

It was a tremendous relief.

If Wil had witnessed much of the good that existence had to offer, she'd also witnessed much of the bad as well. It didn't matter which universe you were in – there was always selfishness, cruelty and a too-quick willingness to overlook the pain and suffering of others in deference to one's own well-being. Even on her own much beloved home planet she'd often been amazed and ashamed at the callousness, hatred and brutality that one group of humans would unthinkingly and uncaringly inflict upon another. Never mind how unkind humans could be to non-human animals.

When she'd first encountered the Orolo, back before the Aedui were known to her, before they were even a blip on the radar, she'd realized immediately that she was in the presence of something special. They were a large, ebony-skinned race that appeared to be remarkably serene, stable and happy. The Orolo had managed to prosper and flourish, but not at the expense of any other living creature nor, indeed, at the expense of their environment or their planet.

Of course no one and no race was perfect. The Orolo were understandably worried about the Aedui, although in truth the phenomenal distances that separated them from the invaders' current path provided a fair amount of reassurance. Still, Wil couldn't find too much fault there. Perhaps for the first time ever, because of her own ability to move about the galaxy unimpeded and invisibly, the Aedui were more than just murmurs and innuendo. They were a known, identifiable threat. They were a verifiable fact.

Not that it helped. In reality, as she'd so painfully learned with the Gnel, such information was a two-edged sword. Nevertheless, the scientist in her had to believe knowledge was always better than ignorance, even if – God forbid – such knowledge included intelligence about one's own impending demise. She shuddered even now when she thought about the Gnel. She was having a terrible time reconciling what had happened to them and her role in the disaster. It gnawed at her and, she realized anxiously, weakened and preoccupied her. It gave her nightmares. The bad dreams made her think she was truly not suited to be an intergalactic superhero, not like The Doctor, Jack or John…

_Thank goodness for John_, she thought. When she became uncertain, he became strong. When she became fragile, he became potent. When she became unsteady, he became firm. She felt her breath catch and her heart swell. Her relationship with him had been sudden, admittedly quick even for a 'liberated' and 'independent' twenty-first century female. But she'd never felt more sure of anything in her life than her love for that strange, intense, unpredictable and admittedly sometimes spooky man.

Unlike John, Jack, or even The Doctor himself, she was prone, if not susceptible, to deep – some might say interminable – introspection. But in this case, with the strength of her feelings for John driving her so fast and so furiously, such mental acrobatics seemed unnecessary.

It was funny. When she had been involved with Jack Harkness, she'd somehow known from the start that their relationship would never last. Had she been self-defeating? Maybe… But try as she might, she could never envision them moving in lockstep inextricably into the future. It had something to do with his immortality, to be sure. Who would not be intimidated by that? Intimidated by the certain knowledge and comprehension of how the future would relentlessly unfold? To imagine growing old and dying in the eyes of a lover who would not? So yes, perhaps that had been a failing of hers, to not be able to accept Jack and his remarkable gift without some small (or not so small) amount of misgiving. But beyond that, it'd had something to do with The Doctor as well.

The Doctor was so much more than a mere convenient excuse and obvious justification for her apparent fickleness. She knew with more confidence than anything else she knew, with more certainty than anything else she'd ever learned, that The Doctor and Jack Harkness were meant to be together, and that she was not and never could be anything more than a peripheral part of that story. _Their_ story. There was something almost intangible about them when they were together – something strong and stable like a covalent bond in chemistry, resisting decomposition: although they vibrated mightily at times, the two men had achieved a fixed configuration of equilibrium. This realization, as difficult as it was, had trumped everything else. It had been a revelation – something akin to when she'd learned the universe was teeming, crawling and bursting at the seams with life. It had been breathtaking and undeniable, and also, for her heart, incredibly sad.

And yes, she had loved and still loved Captain Jack Harkness and Jack Harkness had loved and still loved Captain John Hart; so why would it be surprising to anyone that she would fall in love with that same John Hart? There was a sort of unassailable logic to it, if love could ever be called logical, which of course it could not. The irrational rationality of it made her smile. The two of them falling in love was eminently understandable, at least in her own mind, and she thought she'd seen that same understanding and acceptance reflected in Jack's eyes as she and John had stood before him, separated only by the vast chasm of space and time. His acceptance, yes! His approval? Maybe not so much. His blessing? Well, no, that might be asking for more than was reasonable…

Moreover, with John she saw – or at least she believed she saw – a future stretching far off into the distance. The two of them laughing and loving and occasionally getting into and out of trouble. The vision was so pronounced she could taste it. The vision was so effortless it took her breath away. The vision was so incredibly desirable it almost made her afraid.

Of course she had no idea if John saw the future painted in similar colors. Commitment was not something he spoke willingly about. She knew his reticence should set off all kinds of warning signals, but it was already too late. Her heart's path was decided.

Without John Hart she might've, probably would've died that fateful day when the Aedui fleet descended on Gnel. The attack took her by such surprise that she was essentially incapable of acting or even thinking properly. It was John who convinced her to, well… to put it bluntly, basically run away – and thereby save themselves and the unfortunate group of stricken souls who'd happened to be aboard Grasshopper at the time. Running away was not an idea that would've naturally occurred to her, and she realized in retrospect this was perhaps her deficiency, not his. Because thanks to John Hart, and John Hart alone, a small handful of people managed to escape the dreadful killing grasp of the invaders. The Gnel survivors had howled in pain and despair. She would never forget the sound of their cries. Could she blame them? She and John had wept, too.

But certainly it was better to be alive, wasn't it?

So now she was venturing out to meet with those same Gnel, the last of their civilization, the last of their kind. Crade, one of her Orolo acquaintances, and someone who seemed to be nominally in charge of his genial society, had explained the Gnel wanted to express their gratitude and show her that they were doing well. After what they'd been through she sort of doubted they were actually doing all that well, but still… Although she was in a hurry to get back to John, Wil was happy go out of her way in order to briefly visit with them again. She found herself fervently hoping that at least they'd settled into their new life comfortably and were not dreading the future. Hoping that they were indeed happy to be alive.

When she arrived at the Gnel settlement she was ushered by Ganelial into one of their brightly lit portacabins. The entire group was there waiting for her. The surviving Gnel numbered six in total, including the lumbering Ganelial, who'd briefly paused and fallen back in order to quietly close the door behind them as the other five refugees rose to greet her.

_Six_, Wil thought sadly, the emotions bubbling to the surface and once more nearly overwhelming her. _Just six_…

That was her final thought before being struck on the back of the head by a heavy, blunt object. She never saw it coming. Wil Beinert toppled facedown to the floor, the palette of her universe reduced to black.


	9. Chapter 9

**STORIES**

**NINE**

"I haven't done anything Doctor! You have to believe me!"

"Jack…"

"But…"

"_Jack_…"

"It's true! I haven't been back to the Peninsula since, well… since my father and brother…"

"But what about all that Face of Boe poster-boy talk?"

"Well, you can take the boy out of the Peninsula, but you can't take the Peninsula out of the boy. I'll always be from Boeshane, and I really was the first…"

"You have a brother?!"

"Huh? What? Yes! A younger brother… it's a long story, but wait… let me think for a moment."

The Doctor turned around wordlessly and went back to his console, leaving Jack alone overlooking what had once been his home, but which now was nothing but barrenness.

After some indeterminate amount of time spent staring out at the wreck of his world, Jack Harkness closed and locked the doors and walked slowly back up the ramp to The Doctor. "I had a younger brother, Gray. While my mother and I both managed to survive the destruction of our home, of Boeshane, my father was killed and Gray was taken by the invaders, the worst possible creatures you could imagine. And it was my fault, Doctor, that he was taken. I let go of him, I _literally _let go of that poor little boy's hand and I lost him. He'd been entrusted to me and I failed him. It was my fault and I've had to live with that knowledge and that guilt my entire adult life.

"Gray was taken and made their prisoner. He was tortured physically and psychologically in the most awful ways, and then he was left alone to die. But he didn't die, he survived and after having been horribly abused by monsters he became a monster himself.

"Just as I've never forgiven myself for what happened, Gray has never forgiven me for failing him. He ferreted out John, manipulated him, and used him, Doctor, in order to ensnare me and to enact a plan to wreak havoc and exact terrible vengeance. In this he ultimately failed, but not before inflicting a tremendous amount of damage. I lost two of my team…" Jack closed his eyes in pain.

There was a long silence as The Doctor studied his friend. "Jack," he said softly, "I always like hearing about your past, in fact I love it, but I have to ask: is there a reason you're telling me this story?"

Jack nodded thoughtfully in response. Then, looking down at the floor, he suddenly remembered his suspenders were still hanging loose at his sides. He pulled them up, straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders. "After John broke free of his influence he helped me to capture Gray, and I chloroformed my little brother and cryopreserved him…"

"Sounds like Torchwood," The Doctor sniffed. Jack ignored him.

"But before I put him into cold storage, I double-checked his condition. Ran a whole battery of tests. I wanted to make sure he'd be okay in there. But, Doctor… Some of the tests came back with a strange and surprising result. They detected trace amounts of Void-stuff in and around his body.

The Time Lord's eyes widened. "What?!"

Jack shook his head. "You heard me. I believe he had been in the Void, either trapped there or maybe he was there on purpose. Is there any way we can…"

"I'm on it!" yelped The Doctor as he quickly turned toward his console display and started typing.

Jack was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder as the monitor started streaming back data. The Captain immediately understood what he was seeing. It was true! He was indeed beginning to decipher on his own those maddening and exquisitely beautiful Gallifreyan symbols. He didn't even have to think about them – the translation was effortless. Unfortunately there was no time to celebrate. Jack whistled soundlessly, "Holy cow, the surface of the planet is crawling with Void-stuff!"

The Doctor looked over his shoulder and smiled thinly. "You're doing very well, Jack," he said. "And you are correct. It would seem there's been some sort of a breach and we've had Void-stuff leaking through. Either someone or some _thing_ came here from the Void through that breach, or some thing or someone left here for the Void. It's hard to tell which, although if I were to place a wager, I'd bet on the former."

"Why are you so certain the movement was in an incoming direction, Doctor?"

"Well… I don't know, I thought it sounded like a clever thing to say…"

Jack smiled and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes.

"Actually," The Doctor continued, turning serious, "I just find it highly unlikely that something could travel to the Void from this universe without my, uh, help. Or at the very least without me knowing about it. And I realize that sounds arrogant…"

"Uh-huh," agreed Jack with a sardonic grin and a nod.

"…but it's true. Messing with the Void is as difficult as it is dangerous. And you'd have to have a lot of specialized knowledge to do it. I can't think of anyone around these parts – well, other than me – who has that kind of knowledge, or even has easy access to obtaining it." He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Beyond that, having the knowledge is one thing, having the power and ability to _use_ it is something else entirely."

The Doctor looked down at his screen and then back up over his shoulder at Jack. "In sufficient quantities, Void-stuff could infest, corrupt and destroy a small, fragile planet like this one. The breach, if it had been large enough, would not have had to be open all that long for enough to bleed through, and I suppose it's possible, although highly unlikely, that whoever or whatever did this didn't even realize what they were doing…"

"Still, my brother… it's a bit of a coincidence… And I don't believe in coincidences…" the Captain's voice trailed off.

The two men were quiet for a while. Finally The Doctor, his expression full of compassion, concern, and perhaps even sorrow, turned round and faced Jack Harkness. "I'm sorry, Jack, but we're going to have to thaw out your brother and talk to him."

Jack nodded resignedly, "I know."

The Doctor placed his hand tenderly on Jack's shoulder but said nothing. Instead he waited.

"I'll contact Gwen," Jack finally murmured, almost as if he was only talking to himself. "I'll inform her we're coming back to Torchwood and have her clear out the staff."

The Captain's face became tense as he broke eye-contact with the Time Lord and restlessly glanced around the control room, "You'd best put on your heavy weather gear, Doctor. I have a feeling it's going to get messy out there."


	10. Chapter 10

**STORIES**

**TEN**

Wil fended off consciousness as long as she could, since that would lose her the consoling death-like world she'd found comfort in and propel her inextricably toward a place she did not want to go.

She slowly came to and floated there only half-sentient, waiting for something to happen.

Then she realized that she couldn't see and it frightened her half out of her wits.

It had felt like her eyelids were crusted over with something, but when she'd finally managed to pry them open, there was only darkness.

Her brain screamed as she sucked in air through her mouth and tried to struggle but couldn't. Somehow, and despite her terror, she came to understand that her head was enclosed in some sort of hood, perhaps a heavy cloth sack. That probably explained why she wasn't able to see anything and why it was so difficult to breathe…

_Hyperventilating,_ she thought. _I'm going to hyperventilate if I don't calm down._

But she was so incredibly scared. The side of her face felt itchy, sticky, wet. With a start she realized it was probably, almost certainly, blood. _Her_ blood. She'd had bad things happen to her before, but nothing ever like this. _This_ was like some of those crazy stories Rose Tyler had told her back at the Hub, like when she'd been held captive on that ship by the clockwork robots. Like that but only this time there was no Doctor to come roaring to the rescue… Once again she felt her breathing go frighteningly out of control. Her heart was pounding like a timpani drum in her chest. Wil squeezed her eyelids tightly together and the face she saw in her mind's eye was that of Jack Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness – with that wonderful, soothing voice of his – was instructing her on the finer points of what to do if she ever found herself in a situation just like this one. She reached out for the memory of him, the quality of his words, and the resonance of his voice.

"Take things step-by-step," he told her. "Stay calm. Be composed. Be observant. Stay positive. Conduct an inventory. Use all your senses. Do what you can to figure out where you are, what's going on, and then how to get out. Test the security. Test your restraints. If you get the chance to fight, do so as if your life depends on it, because it will. If you get the chance to escape, get out as quickly as you can and don't look back. Never look back. If you are unable to fight and you can't escape, cooperate if that's your only option."

She felt the fear rising up again. She felt sick. She felt cold. She felt alone. "Oh, Jack," she whispered to herself.

"Stay positive and keep track of time," the Captain's shade answered her.

Oh God! She had absolutely no idea what time it was. How long had she been unconscious? If it had been too long… she inhaled sharply, thinking of John waiting for her, wondering… worrying…

"Try to ascertain where you are and who has abducted you and why." Jack was still talking to her. "Don't beg, don't plead. Be strong and stay in control," he added. And then, "Stillness, quietness, serenity," he murmured softly, so softly.

Wil took a deep breath and listened, straining to make out the slightest noise. She heard nothing. Then slowly, tentatively, she started to investigate her situation and physical condition. She didn't think she was too badly injured. Her arms, which were bound down tightly at her sides, still felt fairly strong. It was hard to tell for sure, but it seemed that John's wristband was gone; at least she couldn't feel it. But then her hands and lower arms seemed numb, she suspected that gravity and inactivity had caused the blood to pool in them. She squelched an urge to fixate on the possibility that the precious wristband had been taken and reluctantly, but out of necessity, moved on. Her arms were bound to her torso, and her torso was bound, it seemed, to the back of the chair on which she was sitting. Her ankles were bound together but her knees, hips and thighs felt free to move. That was the good news. The bad news was that there seemed to be some sort of garrote around her neck. It wasn't uncomfortably tight, but if she moved her head a little too far to one side or the other she felt its pressure against her carotid artery. Wil concluded that while she could likely use her legs and feet to knock the chair over, she took the risk of strangling herself if she did.

So, she probably wasn't going to be able to break free.

As for who had abducted her, well… she had a pretty good idea. The Gnel, of course. But as for why she'd been abducted, she hadn't a clue. It made no sense. What could they hope to accomplish? What could they possibly want from her?

"Stillness, quietness, serenity," Jack whispered again.

Eventually she started to feel a little calmer, a little more peaceful, a little more centered, but she was also starting to feel very drowsy. Wil felt her eyelids droop and then close as she dropped off into a troubled sleep. A short time later – or was it? – she woke with a start, afraid that perhaps she had sustained a concussion and that sleep was the worst thing for her.

It was then that she heard the sound. She was no longer alone. It dawned on her that a concussion might be the least of her worries.


	11. Chapter 11

**STORIES**

**ELEVEN**

As Jack stepped out of the TARDIS and into the Hub, he noticed the facility had been placed into night status. The lights were dim, the computer monitors in sleep mode. Not that this had anything to do with whether it was actually nighttime out in the "real" world. There wasn't necessarily any relationship at all between what was going on inside Torchwood and what was going on outside.

The Hub generated its own environment, its own timescape. For many years, in fact, Torchwood had been sort of a universe separate unto itself. It was its own detached cosmos, ignoring much of what was happening in the world that existed outside of its doors. Torchwood – and the people who worked within its confines – was concerned only with its own stories, and busy only with its own mission… to scavenge alien technology that happened to fall through the rift and wash up on the shores of planet Earth.

Over the decades that institutional single-mindedness had become Jack's personal single-mindedness as well, and with it he had somehow misplaced a big chunk of his humanity.

Yes, the Captain had lost something, but with The Doctor's help, and really, he couldn't deny it, with the help of Gwen Cooper, he'd managed to regain some if not all of that mislaid humanity. It had been an interesting and challenging private journey, but Jack Harkness had lived long enough to realize that for better or worse life was all about change.

And yes again, after the fall of Canary Wharf he perhaps had rebuilt Torchwood in The Doctor's honor, but only recently, Jack felt, very recently indeed, had it become an organization that the Time Lord might actually approve of. This evolution was something that made the Captain proud.

He was also very proud of Gwen Cooper, who'd evidently followed his orders perfectly and emptied the facility of staff. Considering what The Doctor and he were about to do, this was not only appropriate, but very, very smart. The idea of thawing out his brother scared the crap out of Jack.

"Are you coming?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes!" came the peevish response as the Time Lord backed out of the TARDIS and quickly closed the doors behind him. "Spike nearly got out!" The Doctor spun round and snapped at him.

"Sorry, Doctor!" Jack exclaimed with exaggerated remorse. In truth the Captain thought maybe Spike would've had a good time wandering around the Hub. There really weren't any… well, _many_ things that the cat could get into which would hurt him and they could always locate him on one of the life signs detection systems if he went too far astray. As long as he didn't get eaten by a Weevil… Or skewered by the Pterodactyl as a snack… Or…

"Erm, really… sorry, Doctor, my bad!" Jack apologized much more sincerely the second time.

"Where to?" The Doctor, his annoyance already forgotten, asked as he pushed his hands deep into his coat pockets.

"The morgue."

"Ah! Should've known," this was accentuated with a raised eyebrow.

"Well… what did you think I meant when I said that I put him on ice?"

The Doctor shrugged silently.

"Follow me," Jack led The Doctor out of the main part of the Hub toward the crypts. The only sounds the gentle humming of the air filtration system and the two men's footsteps.

As they approached the vault the Time Lord touched Jack lightly on the shoulder, "Um, Captain. Do you think it would be a wise precaution to put the facility into lockdown?"

Before Jack could answer a third voice came from the deeply shadowed morgue, "Sounds like a good idea to me, sir."

"Ianto?" The Captain frowned and stopped dead in his tracks.

Ianto Jones was sitting on a chair in the morgue, a book resting on his lap and an empty coffee cup on the floor by his feet. "Yes, sir. Who else would you be expecting, sir?"

"Damn it, but I told Gwen…"

Ianto rose from the chair. "Yes sir. I am aware of what you told her to do, sir. You should know better than that, sir."

Jack glared at Ianto warily, "Does Gwen know about this?"

"No sir, she is unaware that I'm here. She followed your orders precisely, sir. Have no doubt about it."

Jack's eyes darted around the vault. He could make out a small table by the specific crypt which contained his brother. It had several vials and numerous medical tools resting on its surface. He took a deep breath. "How did you know?"

Ianto smiled as he walked forward and offered his right hand to The Doctor, who shook it vigorously and returned the smile brightly. "It wasn't hard to guess, sir. Why else would you come back but ask all the staff to vacate the premises?" The Welshman shrugged. "Perhaps, sir, you aren't as mysterious as you think you are, at least not to me."

"Well, as long as you're here…" Jack sounded exasperated but also a tiny bit relieved.

"I'll be setting the facility to lockdown, sir."

"Make that a silent lockdown, Ianto. And by the way, you can stop calling me _sir_."

"Yes, sir. Silent, sir. And no, with all due respect I don't think so, sir." Ianto winked as he pivoted and silently padded out of the room.

The Doctor turned and met Jack's eyes for a long moment. "It would seem at least some of your distinguished colleagues have minds of their own, Captain."

Jack sighed loudly. "Was there ever any doubt of it?"

"You could ask him to leave."

"I could…" Jack walked over to the crypts and with a loud grunt pulled out the chamber which housed his brother's shrouded body. There was a soft _whoosh_ as the crypt's sub-zero vacuum was replaced with air. As far as he could tell, all was as it should be within. "But I won't. I have a feeling he might come in handy. Besides…"

"Yes?"

"It's nice to see him," Jack said very quietly as he unzipped the body bag, revealing Gray's colorless face.

The flashing red lockdown lights came on as Ianto walked back into the room. Jack stepped to the side and drew his Webley revolver. The Time Lord shot him a disapproving look, but the Captain shook his head vehemently.

"You're in my house now, Doctor; you'll play by my rules. And no one knows what we're up against better than me," he glanced at Ianto, "and my brave friend and colleague here, Ianto Jones." Jack looked at his brother – pure, unadulterated hatred flaming in his blue eyes, "This asshole killed two of my team and despite the fact that I gave him one, if there's anybody who doesn't deserve a second chance, it's him."

Jack used his gun to motion toward his brother and then left its barrel pointing directly at Gray's head. "Ianto, go ahead and wake him up."


	12. Chapter 12

**STORIES**

**TWELVE**

"Walk with me," Halikaarn Jaad said to Captain John Hart. The Halikaarn had found John in a deeply-shadowed library, grimly looking over atlases and maps of the planet. John raised an eyebrow but quickly stood and wordlessly followed the Erasmii leader out of the room and through the door of the building into the bright light of midday.

It was hot. John shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. The Halikaarn motioned toward a small bench and John dropped his coat on top of it.

"Where are we going, Halikaarn?"

"Please, call me Ecba, Captain Hart, that is my, how do you say, given name. The name by which my friends refer to me."

John nodded. "Okay, Ecba. Then please… call me John. And where are we going?"

Ecba pointed up a steep slope off to their left. "We are ascending the hill," he said.

"More of a mountain than a hill, actually," John muttered under his breath.

"Pardon me?"

"That sounds good, Ecba. Lead on!"

The two men walked in silence for a time, the hardened road becoming a gravel path and then eventually a winding dirt trail.

The dry scrubland of the city abruptly transformed into an oasis of sorts. Somehow the Erasmii had found water and used it to raise vines, grain and all manner of trees that yielded fruits and oils while casting dappled shade on the path up the slope.

John noticed the temperature dropped a little, the breeze freshened with every step. The effort to keep climbing kept him warm, but when they'd reached a suitable altitude to stop and enjoy the view, and nibble on the fruits they'd pilfered along the way, his sweat dried instantly in the cool, dry wind and he felt a slight chill.

The whitewashed buildings of the Erasmus capital were laid out below them, basking – or maybe the proper word was baking – in the intense heat of the high noon sun. Colorful insects flew around John's head but there weren't enough of them to be obnoxious. They were kept in check, he guessed, by the birds, who sang from perches in the trees and other lush vegetation. "This is beautiful!" John said with a smile, absolutely meaning it.

Ecba nodded and then after a long pause replied, "Let's go up a bit further."

They passed the upper limit of the Erasmii orchards and wandered through a belt of twisted gnarled trees to a sloping meadow dusted with what, from a distance, had looked to John like frost. But it was actually a carpet of tiny white wildflowers. John Hart caught his breath and thought of Wil, who would've been enchanted by this place; he was certain of it.

The two men walked a bit farther and then sat on the exposed root of a tree.

"These trees are the oldest living things on Erasmus," Ecba explained. "Many cubic feet of earth had to be removed, and many more moved, to build this grove."

John nodded. He'd been around the block a few times and he knew where this conversation was heading. He inwardly shrugged and resisted an impulse to roll his eyes – what he did for love! Still, he had promised Wil that he would try, and try his best he would; besides he really had nothing better to do.

"This _is_ amazing and it is beautiful, Ecba, but it is not unique in the galaxy. I'm sure it was hard work to create it – nothing this beautiful comes easily, but hard work never killed anyone and that is exactly what you are up against with the Aedui. Only it isn't _anyone_, it is _everyone_ who will die if you do not leave this world of yours."

The Halikaarn nodded sadly, thoughtfully, and then stood and motioned for John to follow him even farther up the slope. They came across a bathhouse, constructed where steaming water was sluiced down from natural hot springs. John could smell the heat and the sulfur.

"I'm not sure of your word for it," said Ecba. "This mountain is an opening, or rupture, in the planet's surface which allows hot molten rock, ashes and gas to escape from below the surface."

"Volcano."

"Pardon?"

"We call these mountains volcanoes."

_Shit! They live on the side of a fucking active volcano_, John thought.

Ecba nodded his head. "Do I need to say anything else?"

"No, you don't." If he was good at anything, John Hart was good at knowing when he was beaten. Heaven knew it had happened to him enough in his life. If anything, he was an expert.

There was a long period of silence between the two men as the birds continued to sing.

Finally the Halikaarn spoke, "I would like you to dine with me tonight. Perhaps your… mate will return in time?"

John raised his right wrist and then remembered the 'mate' Ecba referred to was in possession of his leather strap. Still, he kept an old, battered timepiece in one of his pants' pockets and pulled it out of its hiding place, checked the time, and nodded. "She should be back soon, and dinner sounds wonderful. Thank you."

"Good!" Ecba turned and started walking back down the path, toward his sun-drenched city which, John thought morosely, would soon be no more.


	13. Chapter 13

**STORIES**

**THIRTEEN**

It was Jezry, one of the Gnel, who slowly removed the hood from over Wil's head. Portions of the fabric stuck painfully to her hair and scalp. She gasped in discomfort as it was pulled off. But that wasn't the only pain she felt. Numerous other aching parts of her body were suddenly vying for attention.

Wil shut her eyes in distress and fought off several waves of nausea before opening them again. She blinked in the bright light, "What are you doing? What do you want?" she croaked hoarsely.

"It wasn't my idea," Jezry said softly.

"Then please, let me go!" Wil pleaded.

"I'm sorry, I can't." A wad of cloth appeared in Jezry's hand. Wil thought the woman was going to gag her and despite Jack's admonitions began to sob uncontrollably. But instead of stifling her, Jezry gently pressed the rag against her face and scalp. When Wil caught site of it from the corner of her eye, the material was soaked with scarlet blood.

Lacerations…

"Oh my God," Wil cried.

"Be quiet!" Jezry's expression suddenly darkened, became troubled. Wil cowered back fearfully, thinking the abrupt mood change was because she'd raised her voice, but then Jezry dropped the piece of blood-saturated fabric to the floor and pulled out a clean one. _Oh shit._ It wasn't the loudness of her voice that had disturbed the Gnel woman, it was her face…

Wil realized during most of this she'd been having the wrong emotions. She should've been outraged, angry, fighting mad. Instead she'd been experiencing a sort of dazed acceptance. And now with the bloody rag and the stunned look on Jezry's face, she understood her body had been on some sort of self-generated chemical sedation, masking her injuries, dulling her fury. She'd been surfing on waves of convenient substances which her glands were squirting into her bloodstream.

But now abruptly she hit the rocky shoreline. All of her injuries began sending agonizing pain to her brain. Those convenient substances, whatever they were, were withdrawn cold turkey. She felt as if a trapdoor had opened beneath her and she became a weeping tangle of nerves.

Jezry's alarm grew. She turned and glanced at the closed door behind her and then looked back at Wil.

"Please help me," Wil sobbed. Then she was shaken by a fit of coughing. It felt like something was leaking out of her nose and down her chin. Wil wasn't sure if it was mucus or blood.

Jezry pulled a small flask out of her pocket, "Here, drink this."

Will stared at her horrified.

"It's okay, it won't harm you. Watch me." Jezry took a sip from the flask and then held it to Wil's lips.

The liquid was cool, bitter. Wil swished it around her mouth and swallowed. It made her cough but with a bit of effort she managed to keep some of it down. She nodded at her captor. "Good," she said. "More?"

Jezry nodded and Wil took a few more sips.

"That's enough," Jezry said, and Wil watched her put the flask away, but not before the woman poured a few drops on the fabric and used it to tenderly wipe under her nose and around her mouth.

Enough time had gone by for her to be ashamed of how she'd fallen apart. She may be injured, badly even, but she was still alive and surely that was a blessing. Where there was life, there was hope.

"So what's happening?" This was asked as calmly as possible.

"I can't tell you," Jezry said. "Please, no more questions."

Wil looked at her as serenely as she could, and tried to meet her eyes but the Gnel didn't cooperate – in fact she quickly looked away. "Okay, okay, I understand. Thank you for being so kind to me, Jezry."

The woman started. Their eyes met briefly. "You remember my name?"

"Of course I do. I remember all of you as if you were my own family, and I'm so sorry for what has happened."

Jezry leaned over and picked up the hood she'd dropped to the floor earlier.

"No," Wil said, eyeing the object warily and shaking her head. "Please, that isn't necessary."

Jezry's face was stricken, "I'm sorry – I have no choice." She placed the hood as gently as she could over her head.

Wil heard the sound of the door close and then it was quiet and she was alone once again.


	14. Chapter 14

**STORIES**

**FOURTEEN**

What Gray first saw was the pointy end of a Webley revolver aimed right between his freshly opened eyes. The sight was funny to him. He laughed.

"Hello big brother. It's about time."

Jack widened his stance and cocked the gun's hammer back. "What do you mean?" he snarled.

Ignoring the question, Gray gazed at Ianto, "Hello sweet minion, nice to see you." Then he turned his attention toward The Doctor, "And who is _this_?" He laughed again.

"I'm…"

Jack cut The Doctor off, "He's nobody, he's not important. Forget about him. Now tell me what you meant…"

"Ah! It's the Time Lord isn't it? Well, Jack, you're finally introducing your new lover to the family, eh? Again, I say it's about time. My name's Gray," he said to The Doctor with a chuckle and a wink. "I'd offer you my hand but if you'll notice, I'm sort of all tied up at the moment." Gray glanced down at his wrists, which were handcuffed over his abdomen, and then looked back up at the Gallifreyan with amused expectation.

"I'm The Doctor, and I'm a friend of your brother's."

Gray laughed again, but this time the laugh sounded less manic, more menacing. "Yes, I know all about you, Time Lord. The last and worst of Gallifrey. The exterminator of your own race. The destroyer of your own world. Such an impressive résumé! Destruction and oblivion always following in your wake; the kiss of death always bequeathed to your beloved companions. I'm _honored_ to finally meet you, dear Doctor. Your reputation precedes you."

Involuntarily The Doctor took a step back. He'd met evil before, plenty of times, but had never stared into the eyes of anything quite like this.

Gray had noticed the little retreat, and his eyes flashed fiercely in recognition of something he saw in The Doctor's expression, in his body language – but what was it? Fear? Weakness? Apprehension? Shame? Guilt?

"Enough with the introductions," Jack hissed. "Now tell me what you meant."

"What?"

"When you said 'it's about time'."

"Well, a future wife, or would this be a future husband, Jack? Same difference from my perspective, but probably not from yours, _big_ brother, ought to be brought by the family, don't you think? You know… meet the parents, the approval process and all."

"ENOUGH!" Jack barked. He stepped in closer to his brother, quickly shifting the gaping mouth of the revolver's barrel back and forth between Gray's eyes.

Gray glanced, eyes dancing, mouth smirking, at The Doctor, "He has no sense of humor, your new human lover – you know that, don't you?" Then he looked again at the Captain, his voice becoming harsh.

"What I meant, _Captain Jack Harkness_, is that you've left me in here long enough. I thought you were never going to let me out, give me a chance to seek your forgiveness, mend my evil ways, repent for my sins…" Gray giggled but then his expression turned threatening, feral, "It's no fun being frozen, Jack, and I don't like being abandoned any more than you do."

Jack shook his head, suddenly perplexed, "But you were cryopreserved. You couldn't have been aware of anything…"

"That's where once again you're just plain wrong, my dear big brother. I was exquisitely aware of every single passing moment. Of every passing hour of every passing day. And it wasn't very pleasant, let me tell you. I was bored, big brother… With nothing to think about except how lonely I was and how much I was missing you…"

"You're lying!" Jack growled.

"I'm NOT! Do you want me to prove it, big brother? Do you want me to describe the one tiny bit of fun I had, when you were taken by that loathsome incipient TARIDIS? Before you were betrayed and rejected by the delicious little red-haired harlot you were screwing? Before your current boyfriend whisked you away from here to join him on his Quixotic quests, leaving that miserable wreck of a woman Gwen Cooper in charge of your pathetic and impotent team?"

"I resent that!" Ianto muttered.

Gray glanced at the Welshman and smiled. "Oh, I have to tell you, it was very amusing!"

Jack moved in nearer, his livid face inches away from Gray's, the tip of the Webley's muzzle pressing up into his brother's jaw.

"Tell me what you did to our home." The Captain was seething.

"What?"

"Boeshane."

"No."

"Tell me!" Jack's voice grew louder, shriller.

"Make me!"

Jack brought up his free hand, wrapped his fingers around Gray's throat and squeezed. "Thanks for the invitation. I'd love to!"

"Jack!" The Doctor barked as he took a step toward the Captain.

Jack turned his head to look at the Time Lord and that's when Gray struck. The handcuffs somehow, some way no longer meaningful, Gray snatched the revolver with his left hand and with his right he caught Jack's other hand, tore it away from his neck, and crushed it. The bones in the Captain's fingers fractured audibly as he groaned and stumbled back against the table, noisily knocking it over and scattering its contents across the floor.

Then before anyone could react Gray was out of his crèche and holding the Webley to The Doctor's temple, his free hand pinning The Doctor's arm painfully behind his back. "I'd like to see you try!" Gray laughed as he jerked upward excruciatingly on the Time Lord's arm.

The Doctor howled in pain.


	15. Chapter 15

**STORIES**

**FIFTEEN**

John woke sour, hung over, out of sorts thinking it was still early and that he could sleep some more – but no, he reached for his timepiece and it was already morning. Wil had not shown up in time for dinner the previous night and had not padded into the room and snuggled up with him in bed as he'd so hoped she would.

He swung his legs out from under the covers and put his bare feet on the cold floor. He'd drunk too much wine the night before during his dinner with Ecba. It had been an excellent vintage – from the very vines he'd seen the preceding day during their hike up the mountain.

_You can't argue with someone who's chosen to live on the side of an active volcano_, he thought to himself ruefully while he swallowed some lukewarm water from a flask sitting on his nightstand. He wondered how in the hell he and Wil had managed to miss that particularly critical and obvious piece of information. The Erasmii weren't going to leave their world and last night's meal was in truth a farewell dinner, meaning that the discussion was now officially over. Done. _Finito_.

John threw aside the blankets and looked around for his clothes. He was more than ready to leave this crazy place. He was in fact sick of it. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their point of view – wait, no… scratch that. He definitely did _not_ appreciate their point of view. For him, suicide was never an attractive option. It was never a viable alternative. In truth, he thought the planet's inhabitants were out of their freaking minds. There was a difference between being brave and being stupid, and the Erasmii had clearly taken up full-time residence in the latter category. The fact that they loved their home, the fact that they believed their gods and religion had guided them to this world, the fact that they were convinced they were where they were _meant_ to be… those facts didn't matter to John one iota. These people, as nice as they'd been to him, were screwed. As was their planet.

And the fact that they hadn't listened to him? Well… as was sometimes said by a certain Captain he knew: _que sera, sera_.

John pulled on his pants and buttoned up the fly. Wil had been correct that day they first met, he thought warmly with a mischievous grin: he wasn't the kind of man who wore underwear. _And where the hell is she, that woman who is almost always right_, he wondered. Wil Beinert and her amazing TARDIS were now properly overdue. John repressed a shudder; he didn't like it when things didn't go according to plan. Plans were important and when they went sideways, well… it was in so many ways usually not a good sign. There was nothing left for the two of them on Erasmus and the place was starting to get depressing. The bleakness had hit him hard the previous day when Jaad and he were hiking. All those buildings and people and trees and birds and insects were all going to be a fading memory – and soon. Very soon. Even Ecba, damn it...

He walked over to his shirt, picked it up off the floor and shook it out before putting it on. That was when he remembered he'd left his coat outside. After returning from the hike he'd forgotten to fetch the tattered old garment from off the bench where he'd left it. Instead, Ecba and he had gone straight to the Halikaarn's opulent personal dining area. John's headache throbbed a bit as he recollected the endless glasses of wine. It really had been quite tasty… pity that whatever they hadn't managed to finish off would soon be obliterated along with the rest of the doomed planet. Maybe he could load a few cases of it onto the ship before they left… it might fetch a nice price, especially since it would be the last of its kind. It certainly had marketing potential.

John sighed as he pushed his feet into his leather boots and then looked around the room to make sure he'd not forgotten anything. Perhaps Wil had arrived and was in the visitors' mess eating breakfast, complaining once again about the lack of decent coffee, and waiting impatiently for him to show up. Maybe she had been quietly informed that he'd been out carousing the previous night and was allowing him to sleep in. He shook his head and frowned. That sure didn't sound like her but stranger things had happened. Or had they? They'd woken up next to each other every morning since she'd… what? Abducted him off The Doctor's TARDIS and like some kind of stray animal brought him home with her. He shrugged inwardly and felt the familiar shiver of arousal. He'd been surprised, but then again he hadn't – not really – to open up his eyes and see her smiling face. After all, she had been what he'd wanted and all things considered, he was pretty good at getting what he wanted. The fact that she had wanted him too just made it all the better.

And her _want _and his _want_ had finally, exquisitely, culminated in several days of what Wil had tongue-in-cheek described as "some unfinished business" when they'd taken their leave of The Doctor and Jack. "Some unfinished business" perhaps, but business that John would unequivocally describe as some of the _most_ amazing and satisfying sex he'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing. He inhaled sharply at the memory, an almost overwhelming thrill running down his spine and gripping the base of his abdomen. Of course, in his life, no one could ever come close to Jack Harkness as a lover, and John didn't doubt that in all likelihood Wil felt the same way – and if she did he'd be neither surprised nor insulted. Jack had a way of making you feel like you were the single most important person in the universe. Everything about him – the way he looked at you, the way he whispered to you, the way he caressed you, the way he _loved_ you, was incomparable.

And yet… Wil had taken such astonishing delight in exploring him – in exploring every centimeter of his body and of his mind and of his soul. And she'd taken such pleasure in giving him pleasure with her hands, her lips, her body. But it worked both ways, and he loved the way she glowed with a brilliant radiance when he touched her. He delighted in exciting her, in repeatedly bringing her to climax. It left him breathless and he hungered for her more than he hungered for food.

As John Hart walked around the facility thinking about desire and sex and love and other extremely pleasant and pleasurable topics, he noticed there weren't any other guests in the official government visitors' compound. Not that this was too surprising – the hostel had begun to empty out almost immediately after their arrival and the delivery of the terrible news they'd brought for Erasmus. The usual Erasmii caretakers were there and the dining area was stocked, as always, with its typical smorgasbord. John poured himself a steaming mug of the local tea-like beverage and meandered outside. He found his coat, right where he'd left it, although someone had come by and nicely folded it for him. He sat his cup down on the bench, shrugged on the jacket, seated himself and continued to allow his mind to wander as his tea grew cold.

That's how Halikaarn Jaad found him a short time later. John was surprised to see him but cautiously kept his surprise to himself as he stood and the two men formally greeted each other. Ecba had a worried look about him.

"Your mate, Captain Hart. She has not returned?"

John shook his head, and then realized the gesture might not be sufficiently clear so he added, "No, not yet."

"We have had reports – from our long range space-bound telescopes – that there are numerous disturbances in the outer reaches of the solar system. Captain Hart… John… the invaders are coming."

A distinct sense of déjà vu descended. John shook his head in confusion and, frankly, disbelief. "No, it can't be. It's too soon."

"I'm sorry, John. There is no question of it. They are nearly here."

John Hart looked sadly at Halikaarn Jaad and decided he was telling the truth. Why would the man lie about such a thing?

"Oh crap," John muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry! An expression of dismay and despair."

Ecba nodded thoughtfully. "Oh crap, indeed. We do not have a means, John, to get you away from this planet to safety."

John Hart looked down at his right wrist. No leather wristband and no little blue button to press. Not that pressing the little blue button would do any good whatsoever; he was in a different fucking universe, for crying out loud… _Why do I always get myself into situations like this_, he wondered, _and have I finally gotten into one too many?_

He looked back up at Ecba and nodded in sullen agreement, "Oh crap, indeed."


	16. Chapter 16

**STORIES**

**SIXTEEN**

Despite her best intentions and the ever-present fear of a concussion, Wil realized she must've dropped off to sleep again.

She woke with a start at the opening of the door.

There were heavy footsteps and the hood was cruelly ripped off her head. Some of her hair went with it and she yelped involuntarily.

Ganelial towered above her threateningly. She blinked up at him, her eyes slowly and painfully adjusting to the harsh light. Her brain came to life even more lethargically.

If there were others behind him, she could not hear or see them. Ganelial was taking up most of her field of vision. And although she was indeed able to see a little of her surroundings, she didn't think her chances of escaping had much improved. She was still basically hogtied to her seat, a garrote around her neck.

She did not beg, she did not plead. It took everything she had but she unwaveringly looked Ganelial in the eyes and waited. Unlike Jezry he didn't flinch nor did he look away from her gaze. He met her eyes fully and held them. There was viciousness in his eyes, she thought. And worse… there was an intense desperation aflame in them.

"I heard you talking on that ship of yours," he said after a time. His voice was painfully loud as he leaned down low, his face close to hers. She could smell his breath; it wasn't pleasant.

"I heard you talking to that friend of yours, that Captain Hart."

Wil's breath caught in her throat. _John…_

"I heard him ask you why you couldn't do something to help us. Why you couldn't help our people, our planet. Even after we left, after we knew our world to be destroyed, he asked why you couldn't do something." He leaned in even closer. His breath was putrid, hot, dank.

"You didn't give him a good answer. I don't think he believed you and I didn't believe you either, human. I think that you can help us. I think that powerful ship of yours is just the beginning of what you have to offer us." His eyes were glowing as hot as his breath. "I think you can bring our families back, our world back, and I intend to make you do it." He brought his hand to the side of her head and grabbed a fistful of her hair. "Or I'll kill you and you'll never see that friend of yours again. And he will _never_ know what happened to you."

She mustered courage she did not feel. And yet, her response came effortlessly; without any thought whatsoever. "I cannot make that cat walk backward," she said through parched and swollen lips, her voice barely a whisper.

The hand savagely pushed her head to the side, the garrote cutting cruelly into her neck. The hand's owner sneered, "What's that?"

She took a ragged breath.

How could she ever make a person like this understand when she barely understood it herself? There is one universe, by the definition of universe. It is not the cosmos we see through our eyes and our telescopes – that cosmos is but a single story, a single narrative, a thread winding through an existence shared by many other narratives besides ours. Each narrative looks like a cosmos alone, to any consciousness that partakes of it. And as the Time Lords knew so well, just as Wil was just finally beginning to realize, that one universe which is so much more than a universe had a way of protecting itself, a way of preventing violations of causality…

"You're right, John, his name is John, by the way, did ask me if I could do something. But you're also wrong, he _did _believe me. He always believes me because he knows I always tell him the truth. And in this case I'm sorry but the truth is not pleasant. I'm sorry but the truth is not deniable. I will tell you what I told him. I cannot undo what happened. There are some things I can fix, but others I can't. The problem is not epistemological – about what I know – rather it is ontological – about what_ is_.

"Eh?" The sneer had transformed into a look of pure unadulterated, murderous hatred.

Wil had an acute feeling she'd just signed her own death warrant. Oddly, she suddenly felt strangely removed from the whole situation. Like she was free of her body, floating. Like she was looking down and watching herself. She was observing events from a remote, glacial place. _Is this what it feels like when you're going to die_, she wondered. She shivered and realized that same detached body was freezing cold; probably due to extensive blood loss. It would be very good to not have to feel such an all-encompassing chill much longer. She was looking forward to not feeling it.

"Don't you understand? It isn't that I don't know the facts; it's that there simply aren't any such facts." She tried to jerk her head away from Ganelial's hand, but it only clamped down tighter on her hair. "To ask me to do something to try to somehow fix what has happened is as meaningless as asking me the gender of the number five."

He was hurting her. The garrote was strangling her. She felt giddy, almost like laughing. "You're not going to understand are you?" She tried to smile, wasn't sure if she was successful. "Why should I expect you to understand? I hardly understand it myself. There's only one person I've ever met who really understands it. One person I know of in this entire universe, which is so much more than a universe, who might be able to properly, beautifully, epically, even poetically explain this to you. His name is The Doctor and he's… well, I guess you could say he's not from around these parts." She almost chuckled but instead it came out as a cough.

"I don't believe you, human," her captor hissed.

Some last tenuous link with life snapped. She shook her head and spat, "I don't really care."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw something in his free hand. It rather looked like one of the knives Jack occasionally played with, and by _play _she really meant… well, enough said. Jack had weird toys. And he did strange and sometimes spooky things with his weird toys. But that was Jack's way: he had _unusual_ hobbies. The fearsome-looking object should've engendered terror in her heart but in truth she felt nothing remotely like terror. Rather she felt a sort of blessed relief. So she wasn't going to get all of those hoped-for 25,000 mornings, all of those longed-for seventy-some-odd years. It seemed a bit soon for things to end, but she had no regrets, not really. She'd done her best and had even left something behind, in a sense. _Grasshopper,_ she thought as she closed her eyes and let her head slump limply forward.

And that's when everything changed.

There was a tremendous percussive explosion and the room instantly filled with acrid smoke and dust. But not only smoke and dust, as she opened her eyes she saw it was also suddenly filled with swarming Orolo. And even though their faces were partially masked by some sort of breathing apparatuses which, she suspected, were helping them cope with the dirty air, she easily recognized one of the black-clad figures as Crade. While other Orolo soldiers – was that what they were? Soldiers? Did the placid Orolo actually have soldiers? – used considerable, possibly lethal force to incapacitate Ganelial, Crade, his large, round eyes luminous with concern, moved to her, quickly severed her bindings in what seemed to be a single motion, picked up her body in his arms and cradled her to his chest. Then he placed something hard and cup-like over her nose and mouth to help her breathe.

As he carried her out of the room and out of the building Crade was speaking to her. Apologizing for what had happened. Asking for her forgiveness. Regretting that it had taken so long to find her. Telling her he was sorry and that she was now okay and she didn't have to worry and that they would take care of her. He kept on talking to her even after placing her into a compartment inside some sort of vehicle, and then he continued talking as that vehicle rose from the ground with a soft _shush_. He didn't stop talking while an Orolo medic began cautiously examining her injuries and gingerly applying bandages. She continued listening abstractly to Crade's droning voice, hearing it but not really paying much attention to the never-ending stream of words, when after some indefinite amount of time had passed there was another voice suddenly in her head, one that was much more comforting to her.

"Teacher?" the voice said. "Are you all right?"

It turned out she was not all right. According to the doctors, and aside from the multiple lacerations, she had a mild concussion, three cracked ribs, a spiral fracture of one arm bone, two small broken bones in one hand, and trauma to her kidneys and spleen. She was peeing blood and the doctors informed her she probably would continue to do so for several weeks. John's leather wristband was miraculously intact and still affixed to her wrist – on the same arm that had been so seriously broken. The Gnel had apparently tried their best to remove the strap but somehow that had not been permitted; the injuries to the limb had likely resulted from their failed attempts to rid her of it.

It had alarmed her to learn she'd been missing for over three days. _Three days!_ She had been held much longer than she'd imagined. All that precious time – lost. Gone forever. It was almost unfathomable to her. And then there was John… The dreadful knowledge had gripped her heart like an icy fist. She recalled that he'd asked her to hurry back. She had never thought she wouldn't.

When Wil admitted to the attending physician that she did not recollect receiving her injuries, he responded, "You must've put up quite a fight, and it may be a blessing that you don't remember what happened. It is not an uncommon reaction after sustaining such trauma. After a time you may begin to remember, but then again perhaps you never will."

When Crade came to visit he openly cried at the sight of her battered face. Again and again he apologized. "It should've never happened, not here. Not on Orolo."

She shook her head, "Stop, please. It is partly my fault because I brought the Gnel here in the first place." She attempted a weak smile. "Not all people are as kind and generous and loving as the Orolo, Crade."

"How can we make it up to you?" he asked.

"Let me leave," she said.

He'd tried to dissuade her. And then when he saw that was impossible, tried to convince her to bring some of his military personnel – and yes, apparently, the placid Orolo did have soldiers, and damn good ones – back with her to Erasmus.

Wil would have none of it. All she wanted was to take Grasshopper and meet up with her lover and go somewhere quiet so that she could rest and heal. Was that too much to ask?


	17. Chapter 17

**STORIES**

**SEVENTEEN**

One of the stars was moving. Although it was morning, it was yet a dawning daylight and the brighter stars and planets still shone. The star was moving so discreetly at first John had to calm his breathing, find his balance and observe it closely to be sure. It was no illusion. The ancient, animal part of his brain, so attuned to subtle, suspicious movement, had picked it out among the multitude. It was in the western sky, not far above the horizon, hence diluted, at first, in the haze. But it rose slowly and steadily into the sky. As it did, it changed its color and its size. Early on it was a pinprick of white light, just like any other star, but as it rose toward the zenith it reddened, became more meteor-like. Then it broadened to a dot of orange, then flared yellow and threw out a comet-tail.

Until that point John's eyes had been playing a number of tricks on him and despite his considerable savvy he'd misconceived its distance, its altitude and its velocity. But the comet-tail shocked him into the right view: the thing was not high above in space but descending into the atmosphere, dumping its energy into shredded, glowing air. Its apparent motion slowed as it neared the zenith and it became clear it would lose all forward speed before it passed overhead. The meteor's bearing had never changed: it was headed right toward them, and the brighter and fatter it grew the more it seemed to hang motionless in the sky, like a ball thrown straight at your head.

For the better part of a minute it was a little sun, fixed in the sky and stabbing rays of incandescent air in all directions. Then it shrank and faded back through orange into a dull red, and became difficult to make out.

John realized he had tilted his head up as far back as it would go, and was gazing vertically upward. At the risk of losing his track on it, he dropped his chin and looked at Ecba. The two men's eyes met and held, but nothing was said. The time for words was over.

John looked back up just in time to see a white streak slice heaven in half, moving from above his head east, and ending, with no loss of speed, behind him in the caldera of the volcano that he and Ecba had hiked the previous day.

In the moment before the sound reached them, John remarked, "Clever."

After the sound reached them John was sorry he'd been born with ears.

The Aedui had essentially thrown a rock at them. A big, dense rock. It penetrated a quarter of a mile into the solid cap of hardened lava on top of the volcano before it vaporized of its own kinetic energy, creating a huge burst of pressure that is known on the marbled, watery third planet out from Mother Sol as an earthquake. The pressure vented up along the wound that the rock had left, through the cap, widening the hole as it roared out, founding systems of cracks that were immediately blown open by the underlying lava. The lava was wet, saturated with steam; the steam exploded into gas as the stress was relieved, just as bubbles appear in a bottle of soda when the cap is removed. The lava, inflated by the steam, blew itself up into ash, most of which went straight skyward. But some of it, a relatively small percentage but still an enormous quantity, came down the side of the mountain in the form of a cloud, rolling down the slope like an avalanche, and easy to distinguish because it was glowing bright orange.

It didn't take long for the two men to get over the shock of what they'd seen and they staggered to their feet after the leg-breaking jolt of the explosion, only to realize the glowing cloud was coming straight for them and that the pyroclastic flow would simultaneously crush them like a sledgehammer, and roast them like a flamethrower. There was, just as Wil had warned, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The roiling thunderhead was heavy as stone, fluid as water, hot as a forge. The buildings at the foot of the volcano imploded before that glowing cloud even reached them, for the avalanche was pushing an invisible pressure wave before it. John closed his eyes and held his breath but instead of feeling the crushing heat, he felt the all-too familiar tingle of a transporter.

The next thing he knew, John Hart woke standing up, spread-eagle, uncomfortably chained to a wall in a dark room. There was a distinct sensation that time had passed, but as to how much time, he'd no idea.

He shrugged inwardly. "Hello?" he said loudly, "anybody home?" There was no answer. He did a quick inventory. Two hands (chained at the wrists); two legs (chained at the ankles); voice unimpaired; ears evidently working again since he had been able to hear the sound of his own voice; eyes apparently functional even though the room was almost totally lightless; all the important bits of his body still seemingly intact underneath his clothing. He sighed. It was unlikely that the dashing Captain Jack Harkness would come thundering to his rescue this time around as he'd done repeatedly and so heroically in the past.

John found himself hoping that Wil was all right… that his nightmare about the gravestone hadn't been prescient. The shriveled corpses of some of his darkest memories, his grimmest and most despairing stories, reanimated; he performed a quick mental sidestep to avoid any further psychological necromancy.

Speaking of Jack, and just like the Captain, John viewed imprisonment, interrogation and torture as a challenge. That positive attitude was something they'd worked diligently on and perfected back when they were Time Agents. The end result had been proven worth the effort many, many times over. But beyond that, in John's case the boundaries between torture and titillation, between pleasure and pain were particularly – ah, how to put it? – _amorphous_. As Jack Harkness might tell you if you bothered to ask, while John wasn't a masochist, he did have a curious if not intriguing response to discomfort. Well, let's be brutally honest here: discomfort had a tendency to arouse him. The greater the discomfort, the more intense the arousal. That response, once they figured it out, often drove his captors crazy. For John Hart, it could be a glorious and thrilling game. And a dangerous one, too, to be sure; he had the scars to prove it. Those same captors could get quite ticked off when they finally realized they'd been exciting John, not tormenting him.

_Same old, same old_, John thought, _bring it on!_ Although granted it had been a good long while since he'd been raked over the coals, stretched to the breaking point, or whatever these miscreants were going to do to him. Regardless, he was anxious for the games to begin and opted to ignore the little, tinny version of Jack's voice in his head warning, "Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it."

No matter… Jack had always had trouble appreciating the finer things in life.


	18. Chapter 18

**STORIES**

**EIGHTEEN**

From seemingly out of nowhere Ianto Jones pulled out a small, odd-looking weapon. Jack immediately recognized it as a phase disruptor. So did Gray. Ianto discharged it twice in astonishingly rapid succession and with pinpoint accuracy. The first time he fired it just past the head of Jack's brother. The second time he hit the hand that was holding Jack's revolver. The Webley flew into the air and fell to the floor. Ignoring the pain, Gray angrily yanked on The Doctor's arm and the Time Lord yelped indignantly in response.

Ianto bellowed at the top of his lungs, "The first shot was to make a point. The second shot was to make you hurt. The third shot you're never going to know about. Let go of The Doctor now and show me your hands. _Show me your hands!_"

Gray's eyes swiveled around the room and settled on the disruptor. "You take me out you'll take out the Time Lord too," he scowled.

The slightest of smiles graced Ianto's lips. "I believe the odds are reasonably good the Time Lord will regenerate. Will you?"

Gray rolled his eyes, released The Doctor, and raised his hands up into the air, palms facing outward.

Jack grabbed The Doctor, pushed him aside and then seized Gray angrily. "What in the fuck are you doing, you asshole?" the Captain snarled.

"Stick and stones," Gray giggled.

Ianto, keeping both his eyes and his disruptor fixed firmly on Gray, walked over, picked up Jack's revolver, checked the safey and tucked it securely into his waistband. "He's a bad one, Jack."

"I know." Jack flashed Ianto a quick look of appreciation mixed with relief. "You okay, Doctor?" the Captain asked although his eyes were once again focused solely on Gray.

"Yep." The tone and terseness communicated information far beyond the simple monosyllabic answer. Jack could tell that The Doctor was angry and upset. This divination in itself angered and upset Jack, who felt he'd sufficiently warned the Time Lord that the situation could easily devolve. The former Time Agent decided to take his irritation out on Gray.

Captain Jack Harkness was highly skilled in the fine art of causing physical pain. He was a consummate expert at bringing about both the permanent and the temporary varieties. He didn't need a weapon to inflict either type. He didn't even need two good arms.

Although his broken hand was still aching, he yanked down hard on his brother's arm – the same limb that Ianto had injured a minute earlier with the disruptor – and in a single, efficient, almost elegant motion cleanly dislocated the shoulder joint. The _pop_ could be heard from fifty feet away. Oh yes, Jack was well aware of how to cause a human being significant if not intense levels of distress with only the littlest bit of effort on his part.

The pain he caused Gray was indeed excruciating and Gray let that fact be known by screaming. The Scream fully expressed the sentiment that he was experiencing an amount of pain that was incredible, in the literal sense; The Scream sounded surprised, as in _I had no idea anything could be as painful as what just happened to me_.

Jack punched the injured shoulder with his good fist, "Be a man and stop with the whining," he growled. It appeared that Gray's knees were beginning to buckle so Jack yanked up on the same abused arm. Gray gasped. "And stand up straight; don't you know that good posture is important?" The Captain grabbed his brother's dislocated joint and gave the shoulder one last firm squeeze before letting go of it. "Playtime is over, little brother. Now tell me what I want to know."

Gray shook himself almost like a dog would shake off water and with his good hand held his injured arm to his chest.

"While you were being distracted by that darling little boyfriend of yours – what does he call himself? Oh, right… _Captain_ John Hart." Gray narrowed his eyes and looked at Ianto. "Ah, minion, he's a fickle one, isn't he, this former lover of yours. Do you still have high hopes you'll get him back some day? Does hope spring eternal in your young man's breast? In your young man's balls? Wake up, delectable minion. I'm here to tell you that your hopes and dreams lie elsewhere!" Gray giggled but then a look of pain shot across his face. He repositioned his injured arm and stared hatefully at Jack. "Well, at any rate, big brother, while your beloved city of Cardiff was falling in ruins, and Captain John Hart was leading you around like a bull with a ring through its nose, I was busy. I was so very busy…

"And don't you know, haven't you yet realized that when I had my lovely little lackey John Hart bury you alive that I was actually doing you a big favor? I was big brother! Seriously! A _huge_ favor! I was protecting you from the temporal repercussions caused by the most absolute and perfect destruction of our home planet. You and I are all that's left! Boeshane is gone from space and time – your Doctor can tell you that, Jack. Didn't he explain it to you already? That our home never existed? Didn't he tell you? Well, he should've! Aw… poor big brother, out of the loop and out in the cold once again. Never let in on the important secrets. Always the last to know. And no longer The Face of Boe since your precious peninsula has been amputated from reality!"

"But the Void…" this was The Doctor, desperately trying to understand. Back on Boeshane he'd not sensed anything remotely like that…

Gray turned his malevolent attention toward the Time Lord. "You're so pedantic, so unimaginative, so stilted. Aren't you worried you're too distracted, dearest Doctor? Losing your touch? Missing the obvious? Well you should be very worried. You've become slow and stupid. You're as dead as the rest of your race. What about the Void? It's nothing special. I move in and out and through the Void from the Darkness all the time, Doctor. And I'm here to tell you, you've got a lot of people out there who don't very much like you, nor your friends or your beloved companions. No… they don't like you at all, dearest Doctor. And if you, killer of your own kind, are the Lord of Time then I… _I_ am the Prince of the Dark Force. _I_ am the King of the Darkness! But the Void… the Void has _nothing_ to do with what happened to Boeshane, big brother." Gray glared at Jack, his gimlet eyes burning intensely with the fires of madness. "Oh no… now that… THAT is something else entirely. You'll have to look elsewhere… And THAT is something I'll take to my grave, if you have the guts, big brother, if you have the balls to put me in it, which I very much doubt."

Gray's eyes sought out and found the Welshman's, and held them mesmerizingly. "He's so impotent, that former lover of yours," he breathed seductively. "Forget about him, delicious minion. It's time to move on. Forget about the Time Lord, too. If Jack's impotent, then the Time Lord is barren and sterile. You deserve so much more! You're young, virile, sensual, vibrant. You're so alive! Come with me, comely minion. I can show you things beyond your wildest dreams. Lead you to worlds that are unimaginable. Share with you sensations that will rock your universe and transform you forever. Give me your weapon, Ianto Jones, give me your hand, and come with me. Learn what it's like to really live and really love. Let me change your world…"

While Gray was speaking to Ianto, staring intently into the Welshman's eyes, Jack leaned over and unobtrusively picked up something from off the floor. The Captain's eyes met Ianto's ever-so-briefly and a certain look of understanding passed between them. Ianto smiled at Gray and Gray's eyes flashed as he returned the smile hungrily, triumphantly. But in reality there was nothing to celebrate. Jack, something hard and hot entering his eyes, struck like a viper, covering Gray's mouth and nose with a cloth that already had been doused with just enough chloroform.

Gray struggled for a second or two and then his limbs went loose as he crumpled incapacitated to the floor.

"I like my world just the way it is," Ianto remarked dryly.


	19. Chapter 19

**STORIES**

**NINETEEN**

In the end, Crade had to let her go. No amount of cajoling, arguing, insisting or pleading worked. She was unstoppable.

Wil sat with Crade while her attending physician reviewed her injuries and made final recommendations for future care. The Orolo doctor was recommending the same things an Earth physician would suggest, advising her to rest, to eat regularly, to drink lots of hydrating fluids and then, well… to rest again. Followed by a little light exercise, some stretching and what else but more rest.

"The bones will mend; the wounds will heal," the physician said. "But be careful of your head. Avoid any further trauma to your brain."

She nodded seriously at his advice but then smiled at him, "I don't plan on getting another concussion any time real soon."

"And if your memories return," the doctor cautioned, "I want you to promise me that you will talk to someone about them. Will you do that for me? Do not keep such terrible stories to yourself."

"Yes, I promise," she nodded solemnly.

He smiled, stood and walked out of Wil's ship, leaving Crade alone with her. "You are always welcome here," the Orolo leader said, finally acknowledging and accepting that despite his best efforts to delay her departure, the time had come for the inevitable farewell. "I hope you will return some day."

"I would like to promise you that I will come back, but I can't. Right now all I want is to go far, far away."

She saw his face turn sad and realized she'd been unintentionally cruel. "Oh! I'm sorry! Please, don't misunderstand me. Orolo and its people will always hold a special place in my heart. You have been nothing but kind to me and I will be forever thankful that you rescued me from a horrific fate. You and your people are heroes. You saved my life and I will always be grateful for your loving attention and care. But, Crade, I have never had anything like this happen to me before and it has shaken me to my core. I need to retreat to a place of comfort, and I need time to think and heal. What happened has frightened me in so many ways…"

To her chagrin Wil realized she was weeping but there was nothing for it.

Crade leaned forward and gently took her hand in his, "My friend, don't be hard on yourself. Such an event in a person's life can do nothing but have a tremendous impact. You're right that you must give yourself time. I'm glad to hear you say it and I hope you are able to find it. I am sorry that this world cannot be your refuge, cannot provide the peace you so deserve. But I understand. Orolo holds bad memories for you. Some day perhaps you will come back to us, but for now it is clear to me that you belong elsewhere."

Wil nodded and he withdrew his hand and stood. "Is there any last thing I can do for you?" he asked.

She remained seated. This was the new her, resting as ordered. At least until the man left her ship. "Yes, Crade, there is one thing. I want to know, can you tell me, what happened to Ganelial and the other Gnel?"

There was a long pause as he contemplated her and considered what to say. His decision made, he looked her in the eyes. "We have very specific laws covering the abduction and torture of children and others who are innocent," he said as he carefully watched her reaction. "They were put to death. It was done quickly. They were not abused."

She gasped softly, a dim vision of the Gnel woman Jezry playing in her mind.

"I realize you may not approve. That is why I have not already told you of this. It was obvious to me that you did not wish to seek justice or retribution for yourself. I can appreciate your sentiments. And I hope you appreciate that this is our way. We sought justice on your behalf. We will not, we cannot allow such behavior to go unpunished… It is our way."

"Innocent," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"I'm sorry?" Crade asked.

"Nothing," she said more loudly. "It was nothing. Thank you for being truthful with me."

"You deserve nothing less, my friend," he said, "I wish you peace and happiness." Then he bowed, turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Wil sat back in her chair and breathed deeply.

"Teacher?"

"Yes, Grasshopper?"

"You are disturbed." It was not a question. It was a statement.

"Yes I am, Grasshopper."

"You do not believe that you are innocent?"

"No, I don't."

"Do you want to explain this to me?"

Wil sighed and closed her eyes wearily. "No… not really. Not at this time. Just let me quote from a famous twentieth century Earth novelist: _The innocent are so few that two of them seldom meet - when they do meet, their victims lie strewn all round_."

"Ah, Teacher. You are feeling a bit overwhelmed by an alien and hostile world?"

Wil smiled inwardly at her student who in so many ways matched if not exceeded her own intellectual capabilities. "More like an alien and hostile universe, if you ask me."

"Yes, Teacher. It does appear that way at the moment. But not all of it is hostile."

"Indeed you're right, Grasshopper. Take me home to John."

There was a quiet swooshing sound as the ship's engines came alive. The central column pulsed gently and for a few moments she closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer of homecoming and thanksgiving.

"Wil?"

Her eyes flashed open. As far as she knew the ship had never called her by her name before.

"What is it?"

"Something is wrong."

Wil shakily stood up, "Show me."

Several of the large flat screen monitors came to life. Wil glanced at one, rubbed her unbelieving eyes with trembling fingers, and looked again. The planet… the world… Erasmus… had been set afire and was nothing but a charred cinder.

After a minute of staring unblinkingly at the display she realized Grasshopper was talking to her, although she'd not been paying attention. "…landmasses covered with molten rock and ash. Surface temperatures as high as twelve hundred degrees Celsius detected. Atmosphere consists primarily of sulfur dioxide, carbon monoxide, hydrogen sulfide, hydrogen chloride…"

Feeling horribly sick, she fell back against her chair.

"Teacher… Teacher… Teacher…" she tried to block it out but failed. The word kept repeating.

Finally she could take it no more, "What?!"

"We need help."

"What do you want me to do?" she cried.

"Press the blue button, Teacher."

And without further thought, she did.


	20. Chapter 20

**STORIES**

**TWENTY**

Jack had retreated to his old office and poured himself a glass of something from one of the cut-glass decanters. He'd been surprised to find his former sanctuary looking mostly the same – much was as he'd left it. There were a few "Gwen-ish" additions, including a couple of photographs (one of a dog, since when did Gwen have a dog?) and a shiny-new bright pink MacBook. Well… that and the new – the different – piece of coral displayed prominently on the desk; Jack couldn't decide if it was an example of just how _twisted_ Gwen's sense of humor was.

So the Captain sat at his old desk in his old chair, staring fixedly at his untouched glass of something-or-another and feeling kind of old himself. And that was how The Doctor found him some unknown amount of time later.

"Jack, are you okay?"

Jack didn't answer.

"Captain?" That old, familiar tone of voice…

"Doctor?" Begrudgingly, wearily…

"ARE YOU OKAY?" The Doctor sat down uninvited.

Jack rolled his eyes and made no effort whatsoever to hide that singularly discourteous nonverbal cue from the Time Lord. He knew he was being rude, but he just couldn't help himself. "He is my brother. How do you think I feel? Don't you have a shred of empathy in those Gallifreyan hearts of yours? Did _you_ ever have a brother?"

There was no answer other than cold appraisal.

"The death stare and the golden silence," Jack scoffed and looked away.

"If I answer your questions do you think it will make you feel better?" The Doctor asked nonplussed.

"You could at least try!" the Captain spat. But then Jack closed his eyes, shook his head and half-whispered, "I don't know."

There was a long silence as The Doctor regarded his friend sadly and with no small measure of sympathy. Like himself, Jack had apparently and irretrievably lost the world of his birth. A curse the Time Lord would not wish on his greatest enemy, much less his best friend. Finally: "Well, what _do_ you know, Captain?"

"I know that I want to be alone," was the churlish reply.

The Doctor stood up, "You want me to leave, then?"

Jack started as his eyes flashed open. He fully realized the significance of, and the hidden meaning behind, The Doctor's query. Or at least he thought he did. The Captain abruptly rose from his chair and in doing so accidentally knocked over his drink. "What? No!" He shook his head again, this time much more vigorously. "No, I don't want you to leave!"

The Doctor tilted his head, "I'm not very fond of this place, you know. It seems every time I come here something terrible happens to me."

Jack smiled wryly, "It tends to have that affect." He motioned to the chair across from the desk and both men sat down again. Jack pulled a few tissues out from a drawer and began mopping up the spilled alcohol. "You know," he said wearily, "with Gray I feel that I am almost in view of something that is at the limit of my comprehension." He tossed the sodden lump of tissues into the waste bin.

"He's mad, Jack. Something like that – no matter how much you want to and how hard you try, you can't fix something like that. He's too broken."

"He's more than just broken, Doctor. I know you saw it too."

"Oh yes, I saw it. And I agree with what Ianto said. He's a bad one and he's a potent combination, such evil – and let us honest about it, he _is_ evil – mixed with so much knowledge and power is not a good thing. It's never a good thing…" The Doctor's voice trailed off as his eyes became unfocused.

Jack leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you think that he really was aware of what was going on when he was in cryogenic suspension?"

"It's possible," The Doctor shrugged. "And considering what he claimed, it appears likely, unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Well… I assume you trust your staff, Jack?"

"With my life… uh… lives."

"Okay. Fair enough."

"And we've just put him back on ice again, damn it," Jack shook his head ruefully. Then something else occurred to him. "What he said about Boeshane and the Void not being a part of its destruction… Doctor, did you believe him?"

The Doctor frowned, "It seems to me he was saying anything and everything he could to throw us all off-balance. And beyond that, to hurt us and create dissention and distrust between us. I suspect he's a braggart as well as a consummate liar, Jack, but I think – and this is just my gut reaction – that there was an inadvertent shred of truth in what he said about the Void. Maybe more than just a shred of truth! I don't know whether that slip was intentional or not, and by the way if it _was_ intentional then we really need to watch out because he's toying with us. But regardless, perhaps in reality he provided a clue which might help us to move forward."

Now it was Jack's turn to frown, "Move forward how? What clue are you talking about?"

"Do you remember when he called himself the Prince of the Dark Force and the King of the Darkness?

Jack searched his memory and nodded. It had almost slipped by him because of the other far more hateful words that had come spewing forth from Gray's foul mouth – words that had incensed him; especially those cruel words about his precious Time Lord. "Darkness? Dark Force?" His eyes narrowed, "What's the significance?"

"I'm not sure, Jack. Like I said, it's just a gut feeling, but it hit me like a sledgehammer at the time and I admit that it kind of makes me wish Wil was still around…"

A look of surprise played across Jack's face.

"Well," The Doctor slid smoothly into pedagogical mode as easily as he might slide on his glasses. "We know that in _this_ universe, at least, we're immersed in a shadowy world of dark matter and hidden forces. In fact, almost 90% of matter in our universe can't be seen or detected. Not even the Time Lords really understood this; they sort of gave up on figuring it out and decided instead to concentrate on other, easier, problems like traveling through time and space. Still… we know enough to say that even _talking _about dark matter as a single entity is a mistake. There are in fact many, perhaps infinite varieties of dark matter. We talk about the Void and multiple universes and myriad dimensions and innumerable subspaces like we talk about different types of cheeses; the concepts are so commonplace to us. But there are unseen and very much unknown aspects of the cosmos that exist all around us. These hidden worlds are populated by their own rich menageries of particles and have their own forces, just like our world with our commonplace protons and neutrons and cosmic rays. Yet we're unaware of those hidden worlds because their particles don't interact with the familiar matter in our own universe."

During this monologue Ianto had quietly appeared and he now stood in the doorway, listening.

"So we don't understand much at all about dark matter and its counterpart, dark energy – it's why they're called "dark" – but we do know it's there and we do understand that its gravity is what keeps _our_ universe's galaxies and clusters of galaxies from flying apart, despite the staggering speeds of the individual stars and galaxies within those clusters. Its gravity is what permits us to exist! We also know that these astonishing concepts I'm describing so matter-of-factly, such as hidden worlds, such as dark forces, and such as the very notion of subspace – which Wil has mentioned so frequently – emerge out of string theory and other even more complex and fantastical hypotheses that even I have trouble fully comprehending…

"What I _suspect_, Jack," The Doctor turned his head and glanced at Ianto Jones, "and Ianto, is that if Gray is working with or manipulating Dark Forces – dark matter and dark energy – and if he's moving in and out and between our world and those unseen, hidden worlds at will, then even though we think he's been put safely back into the freezer, he may not actually _really_ be in the freezer at all…"

"Oh yeah," Jack grimaced. "This just keeps getting better and better."

"Erm, sir?" Ianto's eyes tracked down from Jack's face to his chest and rested there.

The Captain looked down and to his utter amazement saw a little blue light blinking on his vortex manipulator. "Uh Doctor? What you said about Wil?" He raised his head and met the Time Lord's eyes, a grim look on his face. "Well, all I can say is be careful what you wish for…"


	21. Chapter 21

**STORIES**

**TWENTYONE**

When the lights came on and someone did finally enter the room John was moderately surprised because he recognized who it was. (_Room_, John had decided, was as good a term as any. Chained there in the dark he had no idea of the space's size or even its location. Was it still on Erasmus? Perhaps it was on another planet? Or on a ship? Or perhaps it was in subspace? Maybe it didn't exist at all except in his mind; stranger things had happened. Nevertheless, he seemed to be chained securely to a solid wall within some sort of enclosed area, so _room_ it was).

"Ecba?"

"Captain Hart."

"What's going on?"

The Halikaarn looked a mess. His clothes were in tatters and his face haggard. His hair was wild, but not so wild has his eyes which stared into the space above John's head without seeming to register anything.

"I'm here to kill you."

John's eyes were still adjusting to the light but he noticed that Jaad was holding something in his hand. It looked small but also sharp, nasty. It glittered.

"Why?"

"Our captors have so ordered it." The opaque eyes would not meet his.

"Who are they?"

The answer took a while to come. As the silence stretched on, John furtively glanced around the vicinity in which he'd been confined. He didn't identify anything interesting. Or potentially useful.

"Demons of air and darkness. Smooth-surfaced, sharp-edged creatures. I have not seen them. They make their wishes known through other captives, from other planets, who have turned and now do their bidding. These sycophants are despicable and unfathomable in their own right. But do not doubt that their masters are here and that they are watching us, even now."

"Ecba, what did they do to you?"

With a trembling hand the Halikaarn reached behind his shoulders but then pulled his arm back quickly as if it had been burned. "Something painful has been inserted into my spine; I am made into one of their puppets… And you are one of their diversions, an amusement."

Jaad took a deep breath and for a moment met John's eyes. John tried to hold his gaze but it was not to be.

"Their surrogates tell me these beings are made of matter so fundamentally different that you normally can't really see them, you can't really hear them, can't even really smell them. They are incomprehensible and yet they know everything and see everything. They take corporeal form in order to move about our universe, manipulate its physical laws, and achieve their untold desires. They are everywhere. They are all-powerful."

John recalled the conversation back on Grasshopper – it seemed like eons ago now – when The Doctor had first described the Aedui. He'd had trouble believing the stories then and he was having the same trouble believing them now.

"Nightmares and waking horrors. Demons and succubae," John snarled.

"No!" Ecba caught his eyes and this time held them. "They are not nameless tales. They know you. They recognize you. You are familiar to them, John Hart. You have even been useful to them, perhaps more than once. They had intended to eliminate you at some time in the past, maybe several times, but here and now they find you once again. You intrigue them. Make them curious. Excite them. This is why we were separated out for special treatment while the rest of my planet burned to death beneath lava and ash." He grimaced, shuddered, and reached as if to snatch at something behind his back.

"Impossible!" John insisted but in reality he knew it could be true. The beachhead… And before that, on the Newhope… And maybe even before that… Could it be? Gray? Could it really be? His mind started spinning uncontrollably.

"Ah!" There was madness in the Halikaarn's eyes. Madness and other dank, black things, too. "I see on your face the look of remembrance. Perhaps…" He took a step closer, "Perhaps you brought them here with you?" His tone was accusatory, suddenly angry.

John flinched. In some ways Ecba was right, but in other respects he was wrong. So very wrong. John did not have to lie, although if it had suited his purpose he would've effortlessly, without a second thought. "No, we did not bring these creatures here, neither to this universe nor to your planet. They did not follow us. We did not lead them. We _do_ know about them. They are a most ancient and terrible evil. And I have met them, but only indirectly, through their tools, as have you, Jaad. Just like you."

Ecba seemed off-balance for a moment. But like a fencer, he had a riposte. He was striving for a justification, searching for someone to blame. It was becoming clear that the Hallikaarn believed he'd found that someone. "You claim you had nothing to do with it and yet you directly preceded their arrival, foretold their coming, warned of their immense power."

"I am not lying to you, Jaad. We knew we could not successfully fight them; we only came to try to help. That was all we could do. We tried and we failed. I take responsibility for that failure. And I accept the consequences. I knew that one such consequence might be my death. But Ecba, I never thought it would come at your hands."

John shook his head, "I have no power to dual with the past. All I can do is speak the truth and hope it might be heard by a friend."

Ecba blanched again, this time more pronouncedly than the last, and he seemed to teeter backward before catching himself. Then he moved forward, now so very close to John, their faces only inches apart. "They come from the darkness. We have nothing in common with them," he said as he held the weapon he'd carried into the room against John's neck; John felt its sharp razor-like edge slicing into his skin and shivered, although the blade itself felt hot, scorching. "No shared experiences, no common culture. No mutual frames of reference. They are assassins and annihilators that swarm out of the darkness only to extinguish all light. They consume the light. They consume me. They consume everything. And I am sorry, John. I am so sorry but all that remains, all that is left to me, is this foul ending." He leaned in closer, his breath warm on John's face, their bodies touching, pressing almost as if they were lovers.

John shut his eyes, and heard the horrific, all-too familiar sound. A sound you never forget once you've heard it the first time. But oddly, bizarrely, there was no pain… And he was still conscious. Yet he could feel the hot blood running down his chest. Such awful, unreal confusion! Opening his eyes again, he saw a sight that he couldn't believe. A sight that would stay with him for the rest of his life: Ecba had slit his own throat.

Through unbearable pain the Halikaarn was able to softly whisper – it was barely audible – "There is a surrogate in your midst." Then, somehow, God only knows how, with a delicate, gentle touch, he tucked his weapon harmlessly into the waistband of John's trousers. After that, his throat bubbling furiously, his eyes unseeing, his fingers grasping at John's clothing and finally releasing their grip, Ecba Jaad, the Halikaarn of Erasmus, fell dead to the floor.

As John stared down in amazement at his lifeless friend he saw the bright flash of a transport beam and in an eyeblink Ecba was gone.

Jaad's blood, which had soaked through John's shirt and been so warm, turned cold.


	22. Chapter 22

**STORIES**

**TWENTYTWO**

Without warning The Doctor leapt up from his chair and bolted out of Jack's office. "_Excusez-moi!_" he yelped as he sped past Ianto Jones.

Jack and Ianto looked at each other in surprise and confusion. "What was that all about?" the Captain asked.

Ianto shrugged and then shook his head, "Uh, maybe your wristband?"

Jack stood, "Damn, I was afraid of that. As they say in the movies: '_After him!_'"

The two men hurried out the door and into the Hub only to see the Time Lord disappear inside his TARDIS.

"Doctor!" Jack yelled to no avail. Then he glanced back at Ianto, "Come on! Pedal to the metal!"

Jack roared into the TARDIS and up the ramp just in time to observe The Doctor kneel down and begin rooting around for something below the ship's decking. The Captain stopped dead in his tracks. "Doctor?" his tone was worried, definitely very worried, "what are you doing?"

Ianto paused in the doorway, not really sure if he should enter or even if he really _wanted_ to enter. He was thinking furiously. In his mind it was sort of a reverse-vampire thing. You know how in the stories a vampire couldn't come into your home unless you invited him in, but if you did, if you made that mistake, you were totally screwed? Well, Ianto felt that if he invited himself to walk through this particular door then _he_ was totally screwed. He was well aware of what sorts of things happened to people when they entered The Doctor's TARDIS, when they traveled with The Doctor, when they became a part of The Doctor's narrative. He was all too aware of what sorts of nasty situations people inevitably found themselves in. And it wasn't that Ianto objected to living exciting adventures. Oh no, not in the least! After all, he'd labored tirelessly for the privilege to join Torchwood Three. But the Doctor and his TARDIS? Now _that_ was a horse of a different color. _THAT_ was an order of magnitude beyond anything Jack's Torchwood had to offer.

And then there was the matter of Jack himself… Gray had been quite wrong. Ianto had worked hard to kill any hope in his heart of rekindling his affair with Jack Harkness, and like most things he worked hard at, he'd succeeded brilliantly. When it came to Jack his intentions were nothing but pure. He'd only desired to assist with whatever it was that the Captain and The Doctor wanted to do, there were no sinister ulterior motives in his heart. As he'd claimed, it had been easy enough for him to figure out what was going on – or at least make an educated guess. He hadn't been at all surprised when his assumption turned out to be correct. Still, while it was one thing to have altruistic feelings from a distance for Jack, it would be quite different to be cooped up with the Captain in the TARDIS on some sort of – what had Gray called it? Right! – Quixotic quest. After all, he was only human. On the other hand, if Jack needed him…

Speaking of Jack, Ianto didn't necessarily like the tone of voice Jack had started using in his entirely one-sided conversation with The Doctor. The Welshman had heard that tone of voice before – it was not so much one of worry than one of pain – and it usually meant something bad, really, _really_ bad, was about to happen.

"Doctor," the Captain was saying. "This can't be a good idea. I don't approve. Are you listening to me Doctor?"

At that point the Time Lord appeared to find what he was looking for under the floor and sat back triumphantly on his haunches while he examined it. It was small, fitting into the palm of his hand, and glowed dim green, its light softly illuminating The Doctor's face with a sort of eerie glimmer.

"Oh, Jack… Don't be such a…"

"Don't say it, Doctor!"

"Say what?"

"Stick-in-the-mud."

The Doctor grinned at the Captain mischievously. "You're the one who said it, not me!"

"What are you? Five years old? Stop trying to distract me," Jack growled. "And for God's sake would you please stop trying to change the subject? Just what in the hell do you think you're going to do?"

His face turning serious, The Doctor took a deep breath and eyed Jack coolly. "They need help. The TARDIS can't get there without extra power. There's only one place she can get that extra power."

"From you?"

The Doctor nodded matter-of-factly.

Jack shook his head disbelievingly. "I can't allow you to keep doing this. It's suicidal. This just in no way, shape or form can be good for you. And how many tries will it take this time? Hmm? You told me the last time it took two… And this time we need to travel to a different fucking _universe_, for crying out loud! What's it gonna take out of you this time, Doctor, huh?" He took a deep breath and visibly, with immense difficulty, calmed himself.

"And by the way," the Captain crouched down in front of The Doctor, their faces now at the same level, Jack's voice taking on a quiet tone of desperation. "Why can't I do it? I've got loads of life to spare. Infinite amounts! I've proven it: I'm an all-you-can-eat buffet. It makes perfect sense, Doctor. At least let me try!"

The Doctor looked at Jack sadly, "You're not a Time Lord, Jack. Never have been, never will be. I'm sorry but it's the truth. And only a _bona fide_ Time Lord can donate his life energy to a TARDIS. Besides, it'll only be once this time, I promise."

"But…"

"No, Jack." The Doctor stood up.

Jack Harkness made a decision. He'd never used physical force against The Doctor before and had hoped he would never need to. But he felt so strongly about this, that there had to be another way, another choice – something that wouldn't put his precious Time Lord's life at risk. "Get over here Ianto!" the Captain barked and at the same time rose to his full height as he made a grab for The Doctor's hand and the power cell.

But our Time Lord is wily. He's also fast and very, very strong. He easily wiggled out of Jack's grasp.

"Ianto!" Jack snarled again.

"Yes?" the Welshman was standing right behind his Captain.

"Help me stop him!" ordered Jack.

But they were too late.

The Doctor shot Jack an icy look and the Captain froze.

And to his credit, The Doctor hadn't lied. But by Ianto's reckoning, while he and Jack stood unmoving, as if mesmerized, the Time Lord blew a soft, steady stream of air onto the power cell for at least two minutes. Ianto had never seen anything like it, that never-ending exhaled breath. During those two minutes the power cell became so extraordinarily bright nothing else in the room was visible. And then it grew brighter still, so that Ianto's only option was to close his eyes for fear of becoming blinded. Even then, with his eyes shut and his hands covering them, the light was incredibly, intensely painful.

When the glow finally started to subside, Ianto Jones opened his eyes and squinted. The Doctor, looking so very pale in the wash of illumination, was replacing the power cell. Then he closed the floor panel and stood up. It was at that point, as the remaining radiance gradually dissipated, that the Welshman realized it wasn't the power cell's luminosity which had made the Time Lord's face appear as ashen as the new moon. The Doctor was absolutely colorless – as white as a ghost.

"Jack," the man from Gallifrey whispered, "don't dawdle." Then without a further sound he crumpled to the floor.

Jack stood motionless and stared. "He cheated," the Captain muttered to no one in particular.


	23. Chapter 23

**STORIES**

**TWENTYTHREE**

"What are we doing?" Wil asked, the sound of despair ringing clear in her voice.

"We are waiting, Teacher."

"Why?"

"Because you pressed the little blue button."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"WHAT ARE WE DOING?"

"We are waiting patiently, Teacher."

"BUT WHY?"

"Because we need help."

"No we don't."

"With all due respect, Teacher, I believe we do."

"Bullshit. And have I ever told you that I hate it when people say 'With all due respect'? Well, I do!" She felt like throwing something but the damned control room was too uncluttered, too spotless, too perfect. Its perfectness hugely annoyed her. _This isn't what a TARDIS control room is supposed to look like…_

"Do you trust me, Teacher?"

There was a lengthy pause. Dead air.

"Does your silence mean you do not?"

Wil shook her head. "No, no. I'm thinking that at this precise moment I don't even trust myself."

"Why is that?"

"Because I desperately need to fucking do something! Anything! Where's John? What happened here? Does he need help? Is he even still alive?" The despair had turned into a shrill wretchedness.

"Do you trust me Teacher?"

"Yes. Yes I do, Grasshopper. I trust you with my life. But with John's life? I don't know – I don't know that I trust anyone with John's life! Not even…" She stopped pacing and sat down heavily, wearily on a chair, as if she was slowly being deflated.

"Teacher, are you feeling unwell?"

"I am feeling as well as can be expected," she said peevishly, doing her best to avoid the question and its highly unsettling _truthful_ answer. "What makes you think they're going to show up?" She looked down at John's wristband and tried her best not to cry. "It's superluminal, not pan-dimensional. John…" her voice caught, "John never said anything about it being able to communicate between cosmii."

"They will come."

Wil laughed almost maniacally. "You sound like a Zen master. Maybe I should start calling you _Ch'an-shih_, hmm? No, wait! Maybe you sound more like Ray Kinsella in _Field of Dreams_. Do we know what happened here, Ray?"

"Teacher, this world was attacked."

"Oh, great. Well… thank you so much for that brilliant insight, Ray!"

There was a long silence.

"I'm sorry, Grasshopper."

"Yes, Teacher. I know."

"Do we know how this world was attacked?"

"There was a massive geophysical event. Or perhaps more accurately stated: multiple massive geophysical events. Many if not all of the planet's active volcanoes erupted, apparently simultaneously. There were nearly a thousand of them. This could not have occurred naturally; it was made to happen. Unsurprisingly the eruptions led to other cataclysmic events: tsunami, earthquakes, infusion of the atmosphere by ash and sulfate aerosols. The global extent of the destruction is astonishing and the devastation extends far into the planet's stratosphere."

"_Astonishing?_ I'm not sure that's the word I'd have used, Grasshopper. We're talking about the annihilation of an entire race."

Wil leaned back on the chair and closed her eyes. Normally her mind would've embraced Grasshopper's presumptive statements and taken flight with them. All sorts of ideas, observations, theories, questions, and answers would've popped into her head. Yet none of that happened. It was like she was intellectually numb. But_ emotionally_ she was the exact opposite – she felt as if a billion pins were pricking her, like every nerve was on edge, on fire. _Christ_, she thought, _fire – bad choice of a metaphor_. The planet's entire surface looked sickeningly as if it had been torched. She'd never seen nor imagined anything like it.

"It must've been horrible," she mourned.

"Death would not necessarily have been immediate," was the ship's response.

Wil's eyes flashed open, "Are you trying to make me feel better?"

"Teacher, in a way I am. All life would not have been extinguished instantaneously. There is reason to hope."

She shook her head, not wanting to allow the faintest glimmer of hope to enter into her broken heart. Not wanting to have that same heart shatter again after its precious, delicate hope was – as it would most certainly be – quashed.

"How do you know they will come, Grasshopper? How _can_ you know?"

There was another long silence.

"Grasshopper, are you keeping secrets from me?"

"No, Teacher."

"And by_ no_ do you mean _yes_?"

"No, Teacher."

Despite herself, Wil smiled.


	24. Chapter 24

**STORIES**

**TWENTYFOUR**

"Ianto?"

"Yes, Jack?" Jack smiled inwardly despite the unsettling situation. At least the 'sir' business had stopped.

"Is secure storage still as I left it?"

"Yes, no one has touched it, as per your departing orders."

"Good, good. Remember the drawer I told you to never under any circumstances open?"

Ianto drew a sharp breath, "The lower left hand corner one?"

"Roger that."

"Yes, I remember it."

"I want you to go and open it. There's a second, separate security measure inside. Once you've exposed it, you'll have ten seconds to correctly enter the following code on the keypad: 12711826. Grab the container that's inside and bring it here, quick as you can."

Without another word Ianto turned and hurried out. Jack liked that about him. No further questions, no additional explanations, no unnecessary clever comments, no inane chit-chat. Jack hadn't needed to tell the Welshman that if he fucked up the code bad things would happen. _Very_ bad things would happen. Ianto was, for all intents and purposes, perfect.

And then there was The Doctor… the Captain sadly gazed down at the motionless Time Lord and shook his head. He'd found himself in this situation one too many times. If it wasn't so disturbing it'd probably almost be funny. But it wasn't funny – there was no doubt the man from Gallifrey looked absolutely terrible. Not older literally, but rather older sort of figuratively – he looked phenomenally fragile, care-worn, and infirm. The dark rings under his lidded eyes contrasted sharply with his colorless face. Even his lips were pale. On the positive side, however, The Doctor was breathing softly, regularly. Jack took that for a good sign. He found he _had _to take it for a good sign, otherwise…

Jack knelt down and gently touched The Doctor's forehead with his fingertips. The skin was cool, dry; just as it should be. For better or worse the Captain had come to the conclusion that whatever had happened was survivable. Still, he felt a hot flash of anger; how many more times could the Time Lord tolerate donating a portion of his life's energy to the damn ship? And if he did it one too many times, what would be the result? A permanent coma? Could he die? Would he regenerate? These were just a few of the oh-so-many questions Jack had about his precious Doctor. Endless questions…

But both of them were by nature secret keepers. Revelations came slowly if at all, and in unexpected ways and during unforeseen times. Tellings that often enough were dragged out of their dark hiding places kicking and screaming. Jack really had no right to be overly critical. By nature and choice he kept himself unrevealed, even to his closest colleagues, his best friends, his most intimate lovers. He had let Ianto in farther and deeper than he'd planned for at the time; had told the Welshman stories he'd not told anyone for, well, many, many years. The strength of his feelings for the young man had taken him by storm, and by surprise. Feelings – stirrings – that he couldn't deny he still felt strongly. That he always would feel, for as long as he was alive.

Of course the person who knew him best was still, would perhaps always be, John Hart. In the end, there'd been few secrets between them, and even when there was the rare secret to be had it seemed in his heart of hearts the other man simply and instinctively already grasped it. The Doctor had once described the quasi-mystical connection – he'd called it a glimmering thread – which he'd perceived enduringly linking the two former Time Agents together. Jack Harkness had never for a moment doubted the existence of such a bond. There was a level of comfort between them which was unmatched in Jack's life. Comfort that was the result of all those years they'd spent together as Time Agents. Comfort that had grown from all those stories they'd shared and adventures they'd lived. Jack closed his eyes. He'd been purposefully not thinking about John. Not wondering whether it was John or Wil who had pressed the blue button. Not worrying about what had happened to them… to _him_. The Captain was purposefully trying not to obsess, but a part of his brain was already working hard on the problem and imagining what might lay ahead – hence Ianto's urgent and mysterious task.

Jack opened his eyes and gazed at The Doctor, his fingers still softly touching the Gallifreyan's brow. The Time Lord was stretched thin, diluted, as if pale morning sunlight could shine right through him and give his brave hearts a sunburn. Almost like a lover, in fact just like a lover, and closing his eyes once again as if in prayer, the Captain gently stroked The Doctor's face and, somehow, through that intimate physical connection, he could feel the TARDIS watching, waiting… humming with energy. He realized the ship was listening to him, expecting an order. He could sense the ship's calm anticipation. Again the Captain experienced a small jolt of anger. _You allow him to do that_, he thought, _to give of himself._

[And you do not?] was the soundless response.

Jack's eyes flashed open but the conversation was interrupted by the return of Ianto Jones. He quietly closed the doors behind him and walked up the ramp.

The Captain stood and blinked at the Welshman, who was gingerly carrying a smallish, silvery cookie jar-sized cylindrical container. The container had a worn-looking yellow radiation symbol sticker on its side. "Excellent," Jack murmured. And then, the two men's eyes meeting, he asked, "You're coming with me?"

"Yes, Jack. Of course I'll be coming with you."

The former Time Agent's response was thoughtful, quiet. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Suddenly Jack inhaled sharply as his eyes narrowed, "Shit, I should've asked you to set…"

"The Hub is now in full lockdown, Jack. Nothing can get in, or out."

"But Gwen…"

"She's been notified."

Jack nodded and allowed a brief but sincere look of gratitude to grace his countenance. It didn't come close to reflecting how truly relieved he was that Ianto was there and had agreed to journey onward with him. Nor did it betray that the Captain fully appreciated how difficult a choice it had been for the young man to make. There was loyalty and courage in the Welshman's eyes, but there was also vulnerability.

Ianto glanced down worriedly at The Doctor, "What about him?"

"He's coming too."

"No, I mean…"

Jack smiled, "I know what you mean. And I know it doesn't look so good right now, but I think he's okay. What he did was give up some of his life force to the ship, so that she can take us to wherever and whenever John's wristband is. And, Ianto, when I say give up I mean _permanently_. He's forever lost some amount of years from his life, but I've seen him like this before. He'll recover." _At least he always has…_

"How many years?"

"I'm not sure I even want to guess," the Captain frowned deeply. "But he told me not to dawdle, so…"

"_Allons-y_?" Ianto smiled thinly.

Jack grinned and walked over to the console, but it was unnecessary. The TARDIS engines came to life and they were on their way.


	25. Chapter 25

**STORIES**

**TWENTYFIVE**

"Wil?"

Her eyes flashed open. She'd been sleeping. Sleeping, _most_ improbably, sitting up, her chin resting on her hand, her elbow balanced on the armrest of the chair. "Experience something new and different every day," John had often encouraged her. She guessed she'd already covered it for this day.

"Yes, Grasshopper?" Her mouth was dry. She felt as if her skull was stuffed with wool.

"They're coming."

"What?! Who?!" her body came to attention, the Aedui threat clearly on her mind and perhaps, just a few seconds earlier, in her nightmares.

"The Doctor's TARDIS, Teacher."

She blinked, madly trying to organize her thoughts but not getting very far.

"Teacher, The Doctor is unwell."

Wil had given up on figuring out how her ship knew such things. Taking it for granted probably wasn't very smart, but at this point she didn't have the strength to pursue the riddle. Besides, she was grateful for Grasshopper's impressive ability. She pushed aside the cobwebs in her mind. "What's wrong with him?"

There was a long pause. "If you search your memories you'll find you already know the answer to your question."

"Don't play games with me!" she snapped.

"Teacher," Grasshopper's voice was gentle, patient, "The Doctor's TARDIS did not have the power to cross over on her own from that side of the bulk to the next, from their brane to this brane. In order to follow the signal received on the Captain's wristband and reach this cosmos she needed a lot of help. A lot of extra power. You already know what that implies, you have witnessed it. You have watched him do it."

"Oh my God, how bad is he?"

"The Doctor is still alive. It is unclear to me, without a more careful examination, if he will completely recover from his current unconscious state. I estimate he gave perhaps one hundred years of his life. Maybe more. Conceivably less."

Wil gasped in disbelief and horror, unable to speak.

"It was his decision, Teacher."

"You know as well as I do that he makes those decisions far too cavalierly." She shook her head ruefully. "Damn him."

"Teacher, could you deny you would not have done it differently?"

"We both know he is more important than me, more important than any of us… than all of us put together!"

"He would not agree."

"Then that is his problem."

"A problem you share with him. You refuse to acknowledge your own importance. From my perspective it can be quite frustrating, Teacher."

She sighed, conceding the point. "He and I… we make quite a pair don't we?"

"Don't forget Captain Jack Harkness, I'd say you all make quite a team… except when the three of you are competing against each other for an obstinacy award, which it would appear you are almost always doing."

"Oi!"

"I do nothing but speak the truth, slightly watered-down for general consumption."

"Speaking of Jack," the half-frozen gears in Wil's mind were starting to move, albeit begrudgingly. "When they're within transport range, beam the two of them and me directly to the sick bay."

"That will be momentarily, Teacher. But they are not alone."

"Oh? Really? Who else is with them?"

"Ianto Jones."

Wil smiled inwardly, "_Most_ curious..."

"Teacher?"

"Yes, Grasshopper?"

"I believe I still need to apologize to Ianto Jones for what happened…"

"Ah! Perhaps… but it will depend."

"Depend on what?"

"On many things. On what has transpired since then and what he's learned. On how he's grown and matured. On the way he thinks; on the way he feels." She shrugged, "On many things."

"Will you help me determine what I need to do?"

"Always, but I think you'll know."

"Yes, Teacher. It is time."

"You have their permission?"

"More or less."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The Doctor's TARDIS consents and advises alacrity."

Wil raised her eyebrows; who could figure out the mind of a TARDIS? _Any_ TARDIS?

"Then make it so, Grasshopper."

She materialized mere nanoseconds before Jack, Ianto and The Doctor appeared.

The Doctor had been laid out on a crèche. Wil watched while Jack and Ianto's faces went from surprise to shock to horror as they stared at her. She'd somehow managed to conveniently forget about her unusual physical state: the lacerations, the bruises, the bandages, the cast on her arm…

It was Ianto Jones who seemed to recover first. "I hope you put up a good fight, ma'am," he said softly, his eyes narrowing, the smallest of smiles gracing his face.

She looked at him, momentarily puzzled, glanced down for a second at the sling cradling her arm, and then nodded almost imperceptibly, "I reckon I did."

Captain Jack Harkness stepped forward, his face livid, his entire body clenched. "Who did this to you? Did _he_ do it to you? Did that God damn little sadistic prick do this to you?"

"What?" she stared at him in alarm. "What are you talking about? You don't mean John, do you?"

Jack's eyes burned steely cobalt.

"No… No, Jack!" Wil reached for him with her good hand, almost touched him, but then pulled it back when she realized the Captain looked like he was ready to bite it clean off.

"It wasn't John! Listen! Listen to me! Don't you understand? John's why I called you. Why I need you. Jack, Ianto…" she looked at them frantically, her breath suddenly coming in short gasps. "John's disappeared. The Aedui, they're here. They're killing entire worlds, entire solar systems, and they got to him. My God, I've lost him. I've lost John! The Aedui…"

She inhaled sharply and that's when the pain hit her. It felt like she'd been shot in the abdomen but the intense hurt immediately radiated outward, quickly enveloping her entire body. The agony overwhelmed her completely and she collapsed insensate to the floor.

The two men simultaneously glanced at each other in shock and then, again as one, looked wide-eyed down at Wil's unmoving form.

Jack stood motionless and stared. "I don't believe this is happening," the Captain muttered to no one in particular.


	26. Chapter 26

**STORIES**

**TWENTYSIX**

They'd laid her out on the crèche adjacent to The Doctor's. Her bed's monitors flashed to life.

Ianto looked around. "Where are we, Jack? How did we get here?"

Jack tore his eyes away from the horrific sight of the woman he once loved, he still loved, would always love; her face battered and bruised, blood still seeping from the rather crudely stitched-up wounds, and looked at the Welshman – his friend and colleague – with as much compassion as he could muster. Appreciate it: the Captain was so angry about Wil's physical condition that dredging up merely the smallest modicum of tenderness, even for someone as important to him as Ianto Jones, was a major effort. Jack suddenly felt as if he was being pulled emotionally in too many different directions at once, and he didn't like it. In fact he was starting to feel like he'd just about had enough.

But the questions deserved answers, and Jack was definitely in a position to do just that. Whether or not the answers would be accepted gracefully, well… that would be up to Ianto. The Captain steadily met and held the young man's eyes. "We're on Wil's ship. The ship – her name is Grasshopper." Jack suddenly remembered how Wil had put it to him, "You've met her before, Ianto."

Jack watched the Welshman carefully for a reaction. But there was no startlement, no blanching. Just a slight nod of comprehension and acknowledgment. _Okay…_

"As for _how_ we got here, Grasshopper has a modest beaming capability. At least it was relatively modest the last time I was aboard her. Her transporter is nothing to write home about, but she's significantly more advanced than the Doctor's TARDIS, at least in some respects." Jack shook his head, "I've never really sat down and methodically compared the two, but I'd say each ship has her own unique tactical and strategic advantages."

Jack looked at Wil and then The Doctor before his eyes went unfocused and wandered aimlessly around the room. "Grasshopper," he said out loud. "Will you tell us what's going on?"

The response was audible and to Ianto's discerning ear it sounded like the voice of a young girl, somewhat self-assured but at the same time tentative, even shy.

"What do you want to know, sir?"

"You can stop with the 'sir' business," the Captain smiled. "Call me Jack, and this is…"

"Yes, I know, this is Ianto Jones. Ianto Jones, I feel I owe you an apology. I know it is inadequate but I am very sorry. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for what I did. For the pain and suffering I caused you."

Ianto looked down at the floor. This conversation was difficult for him, on several different levels, not the least of which was it reminded him of a time in his life he preferred to not think about. But what had happened seemed like ages – lifetimes – ago and there were other, far bigger, fish to fry… "It's all right, Grasshopper. An apology isn't necessary and no forgiveness is required."

"Grasshopper," this was again the Captain. "Can you tell us what happened to John?"

"Yes, Jack. The planet we are orbiting is… was called Erasmus. My Teacher – Wil – and John were attempting to help the population escape from the approaching Aedui invasion fleet. Regrettably the population was not cooperative. Negotiations took place but were largely unsuccessful. Ultimately, Wil was allowed to take the Erasmii children off-planet to a safe location. She – _we_ – transported them to a distant world called Orolo. John remained behind to continue with the negotiations. Unfortunately my Teacher and I were unavoidably detained on Orolo by unexpected events. You can clearly see some of the consequences of those events on my Teacher's face and body. She was subsequently rescued and we made our departure as quickly as possible once the Orolo felt she was well enough to travel again. When we returned to Erasmus we discovered that we were too late. The population had been exterminated, the planet left in total ruins."

"Do you know where John is?" Jack asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Where is he?"

"He is being held in a complex deep within one of the mountains on this same planet – the planet we now orbit."

"Then why…" Jack's voice was clearly sounding more and more agitated, "why did you not go and rescue him?"

There was a long silence.

"Well? I'm waiting, Grasshopper. Answer me!" Captain Jack Harkness was indeed getting very, very annoyed.

As the sound of Jack's voice became angrier, Grasshopper's tone became softer, calmer. "There are three reasons why we could not rescue him. The first is that he is far too deep within the mountain to be directly beamed out by my transporter. The second is that my Teacher – Wil – is in fact too seriously ill to successfully execute a rescue by herself. The third is that once a vessel and its crew materialize inside the complex, the Aedui will detect them, will know the ship is there and the fleet will quickly return. The complex, you might say, is trip-wired. I am not sufficiently confident that I am capable of concurrently caring for my Teacher, conducting the rescue of John Hart, and fighting and defeating the Aedui, Jack. The Aedui are far more…"

"Hold on!" barked the Captain. "Back it up! What do you mean Wil is too seriously ill?"

Again there was a silence. This time Jack waited as patiently as he could for his question to be answered.

"My Teacher is more damaged than she appears. The Orolo physicians did what they could for her but they were not familiar with human physiology and she was not and is not a very cooperative patient. They allowed her to leave before they felt it appropriate and only under extreme duress. In other words, she demanded to be discharged from their care and they could not stop her. Since her departure she has not been following her physician's recommendations."

"Damaged? What damage? What's wrong with her?"

"I believe that is a private matter. I do not wish to divulge any specifics without her permission."

"Fuck you!" Jack hissed.

"Jack," it was Ianto's gentle, soothing voice. "It sounds like we have other far more serious problems than arguing about Wil. We need to find John and extract him from wherever he is, while at the same time avoid these Aedui, whoever they are."

The Captain was not to be appeased. "Screw that! Grasshopper? Spill it!" His words were angry, threatening.

"I cannot tell you, Jack. Wil does not even comprehend the full extent of her injuries. I have been taught to always do what is right. My Teacher is deserving of privacy, and this is a private matter. Please, do not put me in a position where I must go against her instruction."

"Damn it!" Jack looked around for something to kick but instead his eyes ended up resting on The Doctor's gaunt, colorless face. He stared at his precious Time Lord for what felt like a long time before shaking his head, his decision reluctantly but finally made. A decision The Doctor, damn him, would no doubt approve of. "Okay! You win, you stubborn, cantankerous old thing, you. Are all TARDISes such pains in the ass, I wonder?"

The question was answered with silence.

"All right, then," Jack lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. "Perhaps you'll tell us what you think we should do next?"

"The two of you should take The Doctor's TARDIS down into the mountain complex. I've already transmitted John's coordinates to her. She, in turn, has related to me that you may have brought something along – a particular weapon which goes far beyond any offensive technology that I currently possess – a weapon that might come in handy against the Aedui invasion fleet."

"God, how I detest ships who think they're smarter than me," Jack muttered under his breath. "Especially when they are…"

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing, Grasshopper. Yes, I _may_ have brought something along that _might_ come in handy against the Aedui invasion fleet."

"That small container?" Ianto had been so quiet Jack had almost forgotten that he was there.

"Yep, that small container."

"What is it?" the Welshman asked curiously.

Jack's eyes, in fact his entire countenance, suddenly darkened. "It's called the Everything Killer."


	27. Chapter 27

**STORIES**

**TWENTYSEVEN**

John Hart was wondering if his captors had forgotten about him.

Quite a bit of time had passed, he reckoned. Enough to complete several fitful spells of sleep (if you could call it that; considering his physical predicament getting a truly restful sleep was pretty much out of the question) separated by long periods of not thinking about much.

It wasn't difficult for John to not think about much. Granted, it was one of those skills he'd indefatigably perfected over the years for situations exactly like the present one. Allowing your mental wheels to spin too furiously can do more damage than you might imagine when you're chained to a wall. So that particular well-honed skill was coming in quite handy. Beyond that, he'd always been able to drift on demand into a sort of mindless stupor when it was required. Jack sincerely envied his amazing ability to think about nothing and had always insisted that it was a blessing, not a curse.

_Jack…_

Yes, it was better both physically and mentally to try to stay calm. Too much obsessing about the terrible, unadulterated and undeniable dreadfulness of the current situation could easily drive him totally out of his mind. That is if he wasn't crazy already – something Wil had jokingly (was it?) accused him of countless times since they'd met. Well… he wasn't ready to start gnawing through his own joints to escape the chains. At least not yet.

_Wil…_

But his mind was starting to rebel against thinking about nothing. Various trains of thought were of their own volition beginning to speed through the blessed fog of nothingness; it was during one of those intervals when John began to wonder if the bastards had simply left him there to die.

From past experience John Hart knew he could go for quite a while without food. He could hypothetically survive for weeks. And indeed the worst of the hunger pangs, the hunger _pains_, had already dissipated. Not that food had ever loomed all that large in his life anyway: it was a necessity, not intrinsically interesting in itself to him. Additionally, and also from previous experience, he knew that he'd reached a sort of food plateau and there'd be no more body-shuddering hunger attacks. In a way it was a relief, but when he allowed his mind to consider it more thoughtfully he realized the implication was actually much more ominous – his systems were starting to shut down. Of course it was inevitable. He didn't have a lot of extra fat and protein stores for his body to feed off of – but still he knew he would continue to carry on without food for a long time.

Now water… well, water was a different story. _That_ was going to be a problem. Again, from past experience, he knew he had about a week, tops. He always tried to keep himself sufficiently hydrated but thinking back on it – of late he hadn't been doing as good of a job as he might have. There was all that infernal desiccating alcohol he'd consumed with Ecba the night before he was taken, followed by just a few sips of water after waking the following morning.

_Ecba…_

Well, it was far too late now for him to beat himself up about water and wine.

"Too late, too late," John ruminated. He really didn't have a clue how long he'd been hanging out there. Hah! "Hanging…" He resisted an urge to giggle – now that would be a sure sign he was losing it. Certainly a goodly amount of time had passed. He looked around the room – the lights had stayed on even after the Halikaarn's body was disappeared. That was nice of the bastards; light was always good. There'd been no other visitors, no changes to the surrounding space, no sounds, no visuals. No stimuli of any kind really, except for the beating of his heart and the ever-present sensation of the small, hard weapon which Ecba had spirited into his waistband. Now _that_ was something it would be so very easy to obsess about – if he allowed it to happen. And in fact he'd tried for a long time to somehow get at the blade, but without success.

But he felt himself ebbing, slipping away. He was constantly shifting between darkness and night and all points in between. At times he felt like he was already dead and in the grave, everything alive but him and everyone moving and going on with life without him, without even a second thought of him. Jack continuing on with his ridiculous adventures with his gorgeous Time Lord. Wil and that crazy ship of hers continuing to look for whatever it was that they were seeking. A flicker of envy briefly ignited in his heart but it took too much energy to sustain it. As he waned, gently, slowly toward a final destination, toward what appeared to be the end of his story, John eventually began to notice that the universe was beautiful and the people in his life were beautiful and even all those myriad bleak nights he'd spent alone and lonely had been beautiful. And as he softly slipped away he realized that Time itself was tenderly herding him, pushing him along in a direction not necessarily of his own choosing, but one which was nevertheless unchangeable and irrefutable.

Time… he and Wil had talked about the nature of Time quite a bit. Well, she'd talked, he'd listened. Lying in bed one night, the comingled sweat on their bodies cooling after making love, she'd explained to him that a deep, intimate understanding of Time was the greatest of the many well-kept secrets of the Time Lords. She was only coming to partially understand the great mystery herself. "The cosmos," she'd said, "is oblivious to Time. It only matters to us. Consciousness is Time-constituting. We build Time up out of instantaneous impressions that flow in through our sensory organs at each and every moment. Then they recede into the past. And what is this thing called the past?" she asked as she traced a finger slowly down his chest, and then lower still. He loved how she loved to touch him. "It is a system of records encoded in our nerve tissue – records that tell a consistent story.

"This is all amazing and beautiful to me, she admitted. "But not nearly as amazing or beautiful as the miracle that is our consciousness. It takes noisy, ambiguous, contradictory information from our senses and sorts it out into the mostly reasonable, rational universe that we perceive. It empowers us to identify _things_ – objects, melodies, faces, beauty, ideas – and allows us to think about them. It is miraculous."

"Don't go all mystical on me now," he'd smiled.

She smiled back. "The miracle is that we are able to make order from the chaos that surrounds us. That we can construct a coherent narrative for the story that is our life."

"But surely from an evolutionary standpoint this is necessary?" he was suddenly serious.

"I can imagine other cosmii where it isn't the case, where chaos prevails, can't you?" she answered darkly.

He kissed her deeply, leaned back and slowly scrutinized her. "So Time doesn't exist?" he'd asked half jokingly, but only half.

She searched his face, her eyes painting him, and finally shrugged noncommittally, silently. Then she eagerly returned his kiss and they went on to do other things than talk about Time.

But back in the present, Time seemed all too real to John and despite his best efforts to stay positive he was starting to feel that for him the direction in which Time's arrow was moving was all too clear. Yes, he existed, the room existed, the chains existed and Time definitely existed, and it was gradually but inextricably running out…

And something else existed as well. Something else had wormed its way uninvited into his "miraculous" consciousness. It'd been easy enough to ignore at first but now it was becoming more than just a dimly perceived sound. There was an accompanying visual. "Ah," John said out loud, his voice cracking. "Perhaps still a problem, but a different kind of problem than I'd previously thought…"

What looked like water had begun seeping up through the floor and was gradually covering its surface. Slowly, very slowly, the flow was spreading, its level unhurriedly rising. The water was frigid; he could feel the air cooling as it gently circulated above it.

This time John actually did permit himself to laugh out loud.


	28. Chapter 28

**STORIES**

**TWENTYEIGHT**

"The Everything Killer?" Ianto Jones asked the Captain incredulously. "That sounds a bit unlikely."

"It's not. Grasshopper, are you paying attention?"

"Yes, Jack."

The Captain pantomimed a punch to Ianto's face, pulling it so that his knuckles met the Welshman's cheek and nudged his head. "Violence is mostly about energy delivery. Fists, clubs, swords, bullets, death rays – their purpose is to dump energy into a person's body."

Ianto smiled, his eyes sparkling. "This I know, Jack. Conservation of momentum, it's not just a good idea – it's the law!"

Jack met the good-humored remark with a deep frown. This was serious business. "What's the most concentrated source of energy you can think of? Answer me, quickly now!"

"Erm… nuclear fission?"

Jack nodded. "And the stupidest way of using it is to split a whole lot of nuclei in the air above a city, just burn up everything from horizon to horizon. It works, but it's messy and it destroys a lot of stuff that doesn't need destroying. It's better to kill more precisely."

"How do you manage that?"

"The amount of fissile material you need to kill any living being is microscopic. That's the easy part. The hard part is delivering it to the right place, to the right people."

Ianto shook his head confused, "So you're talking about a targeted dirty bomb of some sort?"

Jack smiled menacingly, "Much more elegant. What I'm talking about is a reactor smaller than the size of a pinhead. It's a tiny, perfect little mechanism, with moving parts, a little touch of memory, and a few different kinds of nuclear material in it. When it's turned off, like it is now… Grasshopper, do you want to beam the container over?" The jar shimmered into existence on top of a small table at the far side of the room. "…it's almost totally inert." He walked over, picked up the container, and gave it a shake or two. "You could eat these reactors for breakfast by the spoonful and it would be no worse than eating a bowl of bran flakes.

"But switch one of these reactors into the 'on' configuration and it goes critical and sprays an intense burst of high-energy neutrons in every direction, and kills – well – anything and _everything_ that is alive with a radius of – depending on exposure time – about half a mile." Jack put the container back down on the table. "And there are hundreds of thousands of them here. Millions of them…

"Hence the name."

"What's the delivery mechanism?" Ianto asked not inappropriately.

Jack lifted an index finger into the air and twirled it around in a circle before dropping his arm back to his side, "Whatever Grasshopper can come up with."

Ianto looked at the container, his expression a mixture of awe and horror. "And what causes them to turn on?"

The Captain shrugged. "Anything could be a trigger. Body heat. Respiration. A timer. A radio transmission. The lack of a radio transmission. The sound of Wil's voice singing a Mozart aria. They're programmable. That's what the little dash of memory is for.

"And they're brilliant. They're too small to show up on any known radar. Get even a couple of them in the vicinity of a ship… Or a smattering in the vicinity of an invasion fleet…" The Captain raised an open hand into the air and then quickly closed his fingers into a tight fist. He didn't bother with an accompanying sound effect; he didn't need one. "If by some bizarre chance the radiation, heat, and blast don't do it, the Everything Killers will also fry the EM and other systems."

Jack took a deep breath. He had said his piece. In fact, it distinctly felt to him like he'd been talking way, _way_ too much as of late and he was now more than ready for something else – for some action. "Any other questions? Ianto? Grasshopper?"

After a few moments of silence he lightly touched, in complex sequence, a couple of carefully hidden buttons on the container's surface – the last and final security measure – and unscrewed the lid of what had formerly looked like a harmless cookie jar. "They're all yours," he said to Wil's ship as he placed the container back onto the table. "Beam Ianto and me back to The Doctor's TARDIS, please."

"Where did those come from?" Ianto asked him after they rematerialized. The Captain simply stared at him.

"What did you have them for?" Again, just the stare.

"God, Jack, I can't believe you kept those at the Hub." The tone was disapproving, distressed.

The Captain's stare turned icy cold. "And I can't believe you think you know me that well."

It was meant to hurt and it did. The hurt showed clearly on Ianto's face. "Jack? What's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," The Captain turned his back on the Welshman and went over to the console. "Let's go get John, shall we?"

Ianto nodded wordlessly, for a moment wishing very much he was somewhere else – that he'd not come along on this particular quest. But only just for a moment. He screwed up his courage and spoke again, "I'm sorry Jack, I didn't mean for it to sound that way. I know you have reasons for what you do. I have no right to question them. And maybe you're right. Maybe I don't know you all that well. Maybe I never did." There was almost a pleading quality to his voice, like he so did not want what he just said to be true.

Jack pivoted, looked at him and smiled. It was a genuine, one-hundred percent Captain Jack Harkness smile. "I wouldn't say that. You know me better than anyone else in the room."

"Gee, thanks Jack."

"Don't mention it, Ianto. And never forget that I love you. Now hold on because we're… uh, this elevator is about to go down."

The engines fired up but it was one of the quickest rides Jack had ever taken in the Doctor's TARDIS – in The Doctor's _and his_ TARDIS. The engines throttled back almost as soon as they revved up, and the control room lights dimmed as the central column slowed and promptly stopped.

"What's happening, Jack?"

"I think this is the ship's way of running silent and running deep," the Captain murmured. "I suggest you keep your voice down." He motioned toward the entrance. "Let's go have a look, shall we?"

The two men walked quietly down the ramp to the doors. But before Jack could open them Ianto happened to glance at the floor. The Welshman placed a hand on the Captain's arm and whispered urgently, "Uh, Jack, hold on. What's that?"

"I don't know, looks like… um, water? What the hell…? Shit!" Jack raced back to the console, hit a button and then ran back down to Ianto's side. The trickle of water had stopped but the area was still visibly damp.

"I've put the shielding up," the Captain explained as he opened the doors. Then, for a few seconds, Jack Harkness felt as if his heart had stopped beating. That's because he found himself staring out at a wall of water. Literally – a vertical wall of water being held back by the TARDIS force field. It was as if they were at an aquarium standing behind a thick plate glass window watching the pretty little fishies in the beautiful blue water. But this was not an aquarium. There were no pretty little fishies. And the water was not quite, but nearly, totally pitch black.


	29. Chapter 29

**STORIES**

**TWENTYNINE**

Something woke her up. A soft sound or the slightest of movements. She opened her eyes only to see The Doctor standing over her, his soft, soulful gaze unhurriedly taking in her face.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi. How are you feeling?"

She tenderly repositioned herself a little on the crèche. "Um, not so good I guess."

"Yeah, I figured."

"What happened?"

He shrugged. "Apparently you passed out. I actually didn't see it."

"Oh dear."

"Yes, right. Oh dear, indeed. Well… welcome to the club." He smiled at her, his eyes dancing.

"Ah! You too, then?"

"Yes. Again, apparently… Although from what I understand, I didn't shock Jack when I hit the floor nearly as much as you did."

"Hmm…"

"So, congratulations!"

"Thanks."

"Well, yeah, perhaps I need to identify and deploy an alternative attention-grabbing tactic. Maybe tantrums? Or sulking? I think our dashing Captain is getting tired of picking me up off the ground. In fact, this time he didn't even bother. He waited until your ship did it for him."

She laughed but then her laugh morphed into a weak cough.

His eyes became serious. "What happened to you?"

"I was captured."

"Captured?"

"By some nefarious people."

"Ah. Looks like you put up quite a fight."

She closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds then opened them again. He was still there. She was pretty sure it wasn't a dream although she felt… strange. On the cusp of a hallucination. "I actually don't remember it. I don't remember getting most of these injuries. I just remember the epilogue of the story, when I was rescued, but even that is more than a little fuzzy. The doctor," she smiled wanly, "or rather my physician told me that maybe I would never remember what happened, and that perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing to not remember it."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. "I can see that. Nefarious people you say?"

"Yes, some people we – John and I – had been trying to help."

"That'll teach you," he smiled grimly. "No good deed goes unpunished! So what was the problem? They weren't appreciative?"

She winced at the memory. "We sort of fucked things up. Our intentions were good, but Time got away from us."

"Ah, Time!"

"Yes, Time. The great enemy… The great ally… We botched it, Doctor."

"Well… but if your intentions…"

She shook her head. "_Hell isn't merely paved with good intentions, it is walled and roofed with them_, as Huxley said. No, Doctor, we made a mess of things. Still…"

"Still, that was no justification for them doing this to you, Wil. You know that. What they did to you bothers the hell out of me; I can only imagine how Jack reacted when he saw you. You look…" he shook his head and smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes, "pretty badly beaten up."

"I know. And I am. But it's nothing terribly serious – a few bumps and bruises, a mild concussion, a couple of cracked ribs, a broken arm, and a little minor internal damage. Nothing that won't heal. Nothing to worry about…" The length of the list and the onset of silent tears belied her last assertion.

"Do you mind if I sit down next to you?" he asked softly. She shook her head and tried to smile as she shifted to make room for him. A jolt of pain shook her and she gasped.

He studied her face with deep concern as he sat and gently took her hand in his. "Wil, I have something important to tell you."

She blinked, "What? What is it? Am I going to die?"

"No, you're not dying. But Wil, you've lost the baby."

"The what?"

"The child, Wil. You've lost the child you were carrying."

She was dead silent, inert, her face expressionless, despite the fact that her universe had just imploded.

His eyes flashed, "Don't play games with me. It doesn't suit you. Did John know?"

She shook her head as she began to quietly weep. "I never told him. I didn't have the chance. I'd only just realized it myself a day or two before. I wasn't even totally sure, yet."

He studied her sadly. "You took a terrible risk, not only with yourself, but with a defenseless unborn child. Two incredibly valuable, unique, precious individuals. Wil… I know it's an understatement but you need to be more careful."

"Oh, look who's talking! You and that energy cell! You really need to stop doing that, you know."

"Is this conversation about me? I didn't think it was about me."

She closed her eyes and he let her cry for several minutes as he sat holding her hand.

Eventually he wrapped his arms around her until she quieted.

"Don't be angry with me," she hiccupped.

He leaned back and looked into her eyes. "Oh, I'm not angry with you, Wil. That's not my place. And I'm not here to teach you morality. It's just… well, who's going to tell you these things if I don't? John? Jack?" He shook his head sadly, "In a way, I feel responsible for you."

She made a low choking sound that in the due course of time he realized was laughter.

The Doctor nodded toward his crèche, "Um, I'm going to go back to over there now."

She closed her eyes and did not sleep.


	30. Chapter 30

**STORIES**

**THIRTY**

The Captain began prying off his boots.

Ianto's eyes widened. "Jack, what are you doing?"

"I'm going out there."

The suspenders were down and the trousers were coming off.

"We should get you into an EVA suit."

"Fuck that!"

The shirt was over his head and gone.

"Or at least some scuba gear?"

Jack was now stripped down to his boxers and tee-shirt. Then those were gone, too.

"Stay here," the Captain ordered. "Think of helpful things you can do that don't endanger yourself or the ship."

He took two or three rapid, deep breaths, held in the last one, fixed his eyes forward and jumped horizontally through the shield's barrier into the water.

As Jack kicked off the barrier – _how strange_, he thought, _I can move through it yet kick off it_ – his entire body shivered convulsively. The water was unbelievably cold. The shock of it nearly stole away what precious oxygen he still had filling his lungs.

Using powerful leg kicks he propelled himself out and upward, reaching forward with his hands until, according to his best estimate, about thirty vertical feet or so later he touched what he assumed must be the ceiling. The water level rose right up flush to its horizontal plane. Small fireworks went off in his brain: there was no air to be had up at the top.

He pivoted and kicked firmly off the ceiling, diving back downward. He was squinting in the dim light, trying to make out where the wall might be, the frigid water stinging his eyes. He saw the wall just before he grazed it with his outstretched fingertips. Widening his arms he pressed against its surface as hard as he could. The wall was vertical, solid, smooth, flat, and it didn't budge. He began moving along it, clutching, scrabbling with his hands to his right – clockwise, always clockwise.

Suddenly it became less dim. Jack blinked several times. He didn't think it was because his eyes were adjusting. He took a chance and paused his progress, turning his head, neck and torso outward as he held on to the wall. He could clearly make out the door of the TARDIS. The entrance was an intensely bright, white, glowing rectangle. And in the center of the rectangle was a vague, dark, man-shaped splotch. _Ianto!_ The splotch seemed to be gesturing wildly with its arms.

His choice quickly made, Jack kicked off the wall and with several strong strokes made it back to the barrier. He gasped as he tumbled inside, the phenomenal cold of the water only conclusively hitting him as he felt the warm air of the TARDIS interior waft across his bare skin. He rolled onto the floor and into a fetal position, shivering intensely.

Ianto was there at the bottom of the ramp with a warm blanket and towels, and he was saying something. Saying something – the same thing, apparently – over and over again. The Captain had to concentrate hard to understand the words: "Jack, Jack, do you understand me? I've a waterproof torch for you. And a facemask. Jack?"

Jack met the Welshman's eyes and nodded. Ianto had knelt down beside him and was using his hands to vigorously rub the Captain's back and shoulders. Now he stopped, picked up a large but featherweight military-style flashlight from the floor and also, improbably, a bright orange scuba mask – _sans_ snorkel. The Captain grabbed the face mask, pulled it onto his head and tightened it over his eyes and nose. Then he snatched the torch and shrugged off the blanket and towels that were covering him. Jack took a deep breath through his mouth, exhaled, took another deep breath and then without exhaling and without looking back he once again propelled himself out the door.

"You didn't tell him." This was Grasshopper's voice. Or was it The Doctor's TARDIS? Ianto had no flipping idea. Wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"I didn't have the heart. Besides, this is Captain Jack Harkness. Astonishing and unanticipated things tend to happen when he's around and the last thing I want to do is cramp his style." He pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses out of his suit coat pocket and put them on. "Interior illumination back to maximum, please. Let's give the man some light to work with." Ianto thought about how much he loved Jack Harkness as he pushed the wet blankets and towels aside, stood up, and went to fetch dry replacements.

At that precise moment Jack Harkness was thinking about how much he loved Ianto Jones. Ianto had given him an extra shot of hope, and like "love," "hope" was one of those ridiculously disproportional words that by all rights should be a lot longer. Although it was still fucking cold, thanks to Ianto's ingenuity at least now he could see, and in fact see quite well. Using the torch to brighten his way, he swam to where he believed had been his last location along the wall and resumed his methodical clockwise search. It didn't take long before he saw something noteworthy in the beam of the flashlight. Using one arm and two legs he stroked powerfully toward a shape illuminated on the wall ahead of him. The shape resolved into a figure, that figure, in the light of his torch, resolved into John Hart. His head was tilted back, his eyes and mouth were open wide, and his fingers were outstretched, wiggling slightly in the current that Jack was generating around him.

The Captain reached out and touched his friend's, his lover's face. It was frighteningly cold. Jack reined in his emotions. _Of course it'd be cold_. He let the torch float free in perfect weightless equilibrium and grabbed one of John's hands. It was affixed somehow, some way to the wall. The Captain moved his fingers around John's arm and wrist, probing, and encountered the manacle. He pulled on it with all his might. _Nothing!_ Then he tried to snap the chain that connected the manacle to the wall. _Fuck! Nothing!_ _Why hadn't I thought to bring something useful with me?_ Jack felt himself beginning to lose control. He consciously calmed his thoughts and subdued his movements – his lungs were starting to burn and he needed to conserve what he could of his remaining oxygen. Using his fingers, which were without any doubt starting to go painfully numb, he began to examine John's body – to in fact methodically frisk him. _Come on, John,_ he thought, _I know you're never without a weapon. Now where is it?_ It was when his fingertips probed around John's waist that Jack found what he was looking for. He dug deep into the waistband and felt something hard, metallic. He pulled it out and stared at the object as he held it up in the light of the lazily drifting flashlight. It looked like… Well, he'd never seen one quite like it before but instinctively the Captain knew it was some sort of switchblade. He fiddled with the thing, trying to ignore his screaming lungs, his freezing hands almost dropping it. But Jack had never met a weapon he couldn't figure out, couldn't use, and this one was no exception. His fingertips located the release mechanism. The blade extended out of the handle. His hands were so cold, so clumsy; he almost cut himself on the knife's edge, and it was a good thing, a very good thing that he didn't…

Because it was without a doubt the sharpest implement he'd ever encountered, ever employed. The blade severed the first chain as if it'd been made of warm butter. The other three shackles were dealt with just as swiftly, just as elegantly. Jack used his arms to grab John's form in a bear hug and again he pivoted around and kicked off the wall. Every muscle in his body was now burning, howling, dying. He fixed his eyes on the entrance of the TARDIS and kicked as hard as he could with his legs toward the light. But somehow, inexplicably, the light seemed to be growing dimmer, moving away from him, not closer. He kicked again, a black curtain of despair coming down on his vision, on his thoughts. Then, silhouetted by the light, he saw a dark shape growing larger, moving toward him, its appendages reaching out graspingly to him. For a nanosecond his brain snapped into battle mode, he'd not expected to be met by friendly forces half-way to his destination. Jack instantly, intuitively got his body and mind ready to fight. Luckily the better angels of his judgment won out over pure military instinct. It was not a foe coming toward him, it was… MOST implausibly, The Doctor! Fully dressed in his suit and converses, the Time Lord was swimming to him, was wrapping his arms around both the Captain and his beloved, precious cargo, pulling them… dragging them…

The next thing Jack knew he was inside the TARDIS, his body screaming, his mind screaming, his voice screaming.

In between his own screams, he heard a second voice yelling, "Charging to 300! Charged!"

And then a third voice, "Clear!"

Adrenaline does weird things to your head. You hear people talk about how everything slows down. That just isn't the case. Not in real life. _Nothing_ is happening slowly. But as Jack's adrenaline level shot through the roof it felt that somehow he could fit a whole lot more thinking into the time and space that was provided. As it turned out, what he was thinking was about to be proven quite wrong.

"NO!" screamed Jack, having concluded the yelling was all about him. "I'm okay!"

What followed was the sound… a sound that is unique in the universe; it could only be one thing – the shock of defibrillator paddles. But the yelling hadn't been about him… oh no, not at all.

The third voice, Jack now recognized it as The Doctor's voice: "No pulse. Again! Charge!"

"Charging to 300!" The second voice – it was Ianto's. "Charged!"

"Clear!" The Doctor – as before his voice strong, commanding, yet Jack thought he perceived a change in its tone…

Again the shock of the paddles. "No pulse," The Doctor's tone was most definitely changing…

"Again?" This was Ianto.

There was no immediate response.

"Charging again, Doctor?"

"Ianto…" the inflection said it all.

Jack opened his eyes and looked at The Doctor's face. He knew that look. He'd seen it before.

"NO!" the Captain screamed once more. He threw off his blankets, lurched for the paddles, violently grabbed them from the Time Lord's hands and shoved The Doctor aside with his shoulder. "Charge to 360!"

"Charged!"

Jack placed the paddles, "Clear!" and administered the shock. The sound of it reverberated off the walls of the control room.

The Doctor looked at the electrocardiogram reader. "Nothing. Jack…"

"Again!" screamed Jack.

And again the paddles were charged and again John's heart was shocked and again The Doctor was the deliverer of bad news, "Jack, I'm sorry. I'm so…"

The Captain tossed aside the paddles vehemently. "No! He wants to live. He always wants to live!" Jack leaned over and began administering manual chest compression. "One, two, three, four, five," he counted as he cycled through compressions. "One, two, three, four, five…" Jack completed five full cycles, refusing to stop, refusing to give up. The Doctor and Ianto both looked on hopelessly, helplessly, horrified.

After the fifth compression cycle Jack sat up, breathing hard, his body glistening with sweat, and felt for a pulse. "Damn it, John, don't give up on me! Do you hear me? I need you! You're my best friend! Don't you dare even think about giving up on me!" He switched to artificial respiration, pinching John's nose and covering his mouth with his own. _Shit, I have life enough for both of us! _He insufflated John's lungs.

Two ventilations later Jack again felt for a pulse before going back to the chest compressions. "One, two, three, four, five," his voice was angry. "I'm not going to let you die! I'll never let you die! Are you listening? Never! One, two, three, four, five…"

"Jack…" it was The Doctor, his quiet words filled with incredible sadness as he reached for the Captain. "I'm so sorry…"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Jack's voice pounded through the air as he bore down with all his might on John Hart's chest.

And that's when they heard John gasp.


	31. Chapter 31

**STORIES**

**THIRTYONE**

No one was as surprised as John Hart when John opened his eyes, although to be honest, The Doctor, Ianto and even Jack were all absolutely stunned to realize the man was actually alive.

But what really, truly surprised John Hart was to open his eyes and see Jack Harkness crouching over him.

"You're naked!" John's raspy voice was barely a whisper. Then he bared his teeth, more rictus than smile, "Were you just kissing me?"

On the other hand, no one was very much surprised at all when that same John Hart next turned his face to the side and vomited a considerable amount of water onto the floor.

Jack quickly elevated John's head and torso and gave him a few solid thumps on the back. John inhaled loudly through his mouth and then coughed up a second immense wave of water. This time the ever-helpful Ianto Jones was there with a towel.

After a minute the coughing slowed, then stopped, and John's breathing became less ragged, more comfortably rhythmic.

"Better?" Jack asked; his face full of stoic concern although his hands were still shaking from the adrenalin aftershock.

John took a slow, shallow breath, looked deeply into Jack's eyes and nodded solemnly. Something unsaid, yet profound, passed between them. Then he anxiously glanced around the room. "Where," he inhaled painfully, his chest again shuddering with coughing spasms, "where's Wil?"

"I'm here," she said, shimmering into existence. She promptly went to him and knelt down beside Jack. John's visage became dark, ominous as he focused on her damaged face and her injured arm. She took his hand in hers and shook her head, "Don't worry about it."

"I hope you put up a good fight," he croaked after a few moments, visibly and with great effort letting go of his anger. At lease for the time being…

Wil's eyes briefly met Jack's before the two of them simultaneously turned and smiled down on John. Then her expression changed into something more serious as John started to shiver uncontrollably. "We need to get him out of these wet clothes and warmed up." She glanced back at Ianto and the Welshman nodded and briskly walked away.

Wil then looked at The Doctor. "And we need to get out of here. We've got unfriendly company on the doorstep, ringing our doorbell, and Grasshopper is about to show them some interesting new toys that Jack happened to have on hand."

The Time Lord raised an eyebrow in Jack's direction but unfolded up off the floor and went to his console, moving out of the way of the rapidly reemerging Ianto Jones, who was carrying yet another stack of dry towels topped off by what looked like some striped flannel pajamas.

Ianto smiled as John curiously watched him set down the armful of stuff he'd carried in. "It's the best I could find in the time I had," he apologized. "I'll try to locate something more suitable for you to wear later." Then he began helping Jack and Wil remove the soaked apparel.

John nodded and did what he could to extricate himself from his coat, shirt, boots and pants. It was quite a challenge to pry all of his clothing off of him; none of it came off willingly, that's for sure. It was almost as if the material had adhered to his skin. In fact John grimaced while his friends and lovers diligently yanked and tugged and jerked. Plus, the bulky manacles were still affixed to his wrists and ankles, and they were definitely complicating the situation. Although the front of his shirt had already been ripped down the center so that the defibrillator paddles could be placed on his chest, there now was additional rending and tearing of cloth. Of course Jack and Wil had already seen the dreadful scars – the graffiti of violence – that covered John's body, but Ianto had not, and the Welshman's hands faltered for a second as the worst of the disfigurement was revealed. Jack caught Ianto's eyes and held them. _It's okay_, the Captain silently mouthed. Ianto nodded almost imperceptibly in response and moved on.

"Wil, come here." This was The Doctor, and Wil kissed John on the cheek before she stood and crossed over to the console. The two of them consulted quietly, if animatedly, just beyond Jack's hearing. The Captain was not amused by this too private conversation but he had more important duties. John's clothes were finally removed, Ianto had covered him with warm, dry towels, and it was time to start the second phase of the project.

Jack had already observed that somehow the amazing weapon he'd used to cut John free of his chains had accompanied him back onto the TARDIS. Its presence was improbable, if not miraculous, to be sure. He figured that without realizing he must have grasped it in his half-frozen fingers using something akin to a death grip. The knife was lying on the floor where it had apparently fallen from his hand. The Captain now reached over, picked it up and snapped it open. Then – carefully! – he went to work on the manacles. Ianto leaned back and watched in amazement as the heavy pieces of metal clattered noisily to the floor. John watched, too. His face was unreadable.

After all four shackles had been cut off Jack closed the blade. "Where did you get this?" he asked in awe.

John held out trembling fingers, reaching for it. Jack handed it to him.

"Ecba," John whispered – the sound of his voice like a prayer.

Wil and The Doctor stopped speaking and turned to look at John.

That's when the Captain noticed a particular kind of pain in his friend's eyes. Certain nuances in his posture and his face told Jack that his former partner was grieving deeply – the signs were clear only because he'd known John for so very long. Jack knew John was going to grieve in a funny, hidden way, over an extended period of time. Such as it always was and always would be with John Hart. _Amen_, Jack said to himself silently, sadly mourning in support of his friend's grief.

A few seconds later the flannel pajamas had been employed and Jack was finally starting to pull on his own clothes. "We need to get back to Cardiff," John said, his voice still weak but sounding stronger than before. He gazed fixedly at Jack as if the Captain was the only other person in the room, if not the universe. "We need to get back there _now_."

Jack gazed up wordlessly at the Doctor. "Well," the Lord of Time said, shrugging, "I suppose that answers _that_ question."


	32. Chapter 32

**STORIES**

**THIRTYTWO**

"I have a visual, Teacher."

"Feed it through to us," Wil responded.

The four of them crowded around the console's tiny display screen. Although both ships had hightailed it out of the neighborhood as quickly and as unobtrusively as possible, Grasshopper had left behind an assortment of homecoming gifts: a swarm of nano-scale video cameras along with Jack's aforementioned toys, plus a few of her more conventional directed-energy weapons.

John was still on the floor, exactly in the same place he'd been since he was brought on board. Surrounded by wet clothes, discarded boots, a manual external defibrillator, damp towels, and used and abused blankets, he sat with a cup of steaming hot tea that someone – probably Ianto – had brought him. He did not seem particularly curious about what was happening at the console.

Oddly, or all things considered maybe not so oddly, it was Wil who desperately wanted to make sure that they stayed for the floor show, that vengeance was suitably wrought on behalf of the Erasmii people and on behalf of her lover. She had ordered the nano cameras to be deployed so that they could watch. John, on the other hand, seemed detached, even disaffected by what was about to take place. The other four had come to some sort of unspoken agreement to let him be.

And indeed John had said his piece. He had let them know where they needed to be. When it became clear to him there'd be a delay, he accepted it gracefully and without further comment.

Displaying on the monitor was the planet – or what was left of it. Erasmus couldn't in good conscience really be called a world anymore; it was just a vanishing memory and a lonely, empty shell. There was a strange sort of glimmer as the invasion fleet became manifest. The Aedui were able to travel by a wormhole-driven vortex-like mechanism, but as Wil had explained, it wasn't really a true vortex, and it was not at all related or similar to how the two TARDISes moved about. But regardless, something rippled, shimmered across the screen; the fleet materialized and instantly surrounded Erasmus, its ships assuming a high planetary orbit roughly between twenty- and thirty-thousand miles above the defunct sphere's surface.

Then the planet blew up.

The thing basically flew apart. There wasn't much in the way of fire and obviously there was no sound – it was outer space. Erasmus just turned into a rapidly expanding mess of smithereens and ceased to exist, the cataclysm expanding to take out the Aedui fleet and anything else that happened to be nearby along with it.

A second or two later the video went dead.

Grasshopper had generously seeded the world, what remained of its poisoned atmosphere, and the planet's general vicinity in outer space with Everything Killers. Only she and perhaps her Teacher knew what the triggering mechanism was. Added to the mix for a little extra punch was a handful of plasma-based directed-energy explosive devices, but in the end they really hadn't been necessary. The resulting devastation was unimaginably widespread. It was incredibly fast. And it was total. As Jack had boasted, everything that had been alive was killed. _Nothing_ remained.

The Doctor turned and looked at Wil, "Satisfied?" The tone of his voice was not a pleasant one.

His tone did not matter in the slightest to Wil Beinert. "Yes, I am," she replied, appraising him coolly. "Although it was only one out of hundreds if not thousands of such fleets."

"Is that supposed to justify what you've just done here?"

There were times when Jack Harkness felt like slapping The Doctor's face. This was one of those times.

But Wil Beinert could stand up for herself. "No," she said quietly, the golden flash of her eyes belying her fury. "_He_ does." She turned and nodded almost imperceptibly toward John.

If John had heard, he studiously ignored her. Instead he looked up at Jack Harkness. "Cardiff," he said.

"Right," Jack answered, at first nodding but then shaking his head, a perplexed look on his face. "What's in Cardiff again?"

"Your brother."

THAT got everybody's attention.

"What about Jack's brother?" This was The Doctor, bravely stepping in where angels feared to tread.

John held up the knife he'd been holding since Jack had handed it to him and theatrically released the blade. "This belonged to the Halikaarn, an Erasmii leader named Ecba. Ecba was my friend. For the amusement and pleasure of the Aedui he was sent to murder me with this weapon, but instead he used it to slit his own throat. He was their puppet yet in the end he chose to not perform for them. Before he died, just before he died, while his neck was spewing out hot blood-filled bubbles over my face and chest, he warned me that a tool of the Aedui is with us, that one of their traitors is among us. His dying words were: 'There is a surrogate in your midst.'"

Jack brought his hands up to his face, steepled his fingertips against his lips, and did not breathe. Wil let out a small, quiet sob and shut her eyes. The Doctor stood silent and blinked.

"Nightmares and waking horrors," John murmured and then continued. "Before he killed himself Ecba had explained they – the Aedui – knew me, recognized me, had even made use of me. But he didn't say and never intimated that I was their factotum, he plainly implied someone else was." John shook his head and smiled demonically as he retracted the weapon's blade. "I had a lot of time to think about what he told me, although I tried damn hard not to. When he talked about the Aedui he described them as coming from, as swarming out of the darkness. As consuming the light. As having nothing in common with us. Jack…" again John's eyes steadfastly held the Captain's. "Look, this may surprise you but there is no doubt in my mind who their surrogate is. It's your brother. I know it as surely as I know that climate change is catastrophic and that nuclear proliferation is bad and that I will love you with all my heart until the end of Time.

"Gray is not their puppet, Jack, he's their accomplice."

John then stood, shakily to be sure, but nonetheless he pushed himself off the floor and stood on his own two legs. He was clearly getting ready for an argument but to his surprise and admitted relief, there was no argument forthcoming.

Instead Jack turned away from his friend and occasional lover and looked into the face of his precious Doctor, and for the two of them – for the Captain and the Time Lord – Time stood still as blue eyes met brown; for the two of them the meaning of the story suddenly became clearer; and for the two of them a few more pieces of a puzzle that kept increasing incessantly in size and complexity snapped into place: "The most horrible creatures imaginable" Jack had always called them, the invaders of his home world whose howls traveled before them and who'd killed his father and abducted his little brother; "There is a surrogate in your midst" were the final words of an honorable man and loyal friend who paid the ultimate price for following his heart and speaking the truth; "I am the Prince of the Dark Force. I am the King of the Darkness" the murderous, psychopathic Gray had strutted and bragged.

Jack now could finally put a name to those who had taken his brother. They were the Aedui. He could finally put a name to those who had destroyed his family. They were the Aedui. He could now put a name to those who had amputated his home world's very existence from Time and Space. They were the Aedui. He could now put a name to those who had stolen his dreams, back when he was too young to even realize that dreams could be stolen. They were the Aedui.

"We had it all wrong," whispered The Doctor, still gazing at Jack, pulling everyone back into the present.

"We need to get back to Cardiff," Jack rumbled, still gazing at The Doctor, but already staring straight on toward the future.


	33. Chapter 33

**STORIES**

**THIRTYTHREE**

"Grasshopper?"

"Yes, Teacher?"

"As you already know, we need to get to Cardiff. I will want you to create a nice little secure subspace bubble and include The Doctor's TARDIS inside of it, along with yourself, of course, and take us there posthaste."

"Yes, Teacher. Let me know when you're ready."

Wil looked over at The Doctor and smiled a little too sweetly. "No more energy cell shenanigans as long as I'm around."

He smiled right back at her, "Yes, Teacher."

Jack looked around and crossed his arms over his chest. "Wow, five of us. Almost a full compliment, eh, Doctor?"

The Time Lord nodded. "That's assuming Wil isn't going to disappear."

"Oh, snap!" was Wil's response to the catty remark.

"But true enough," grinned John as he sidled over and kissed her on the cheek. "You weren't by any chance planning on going somewhere else, were you M'Lady?"

She shook her head solemnly. He knew she'd never lie to him, and yet… There was nothing he wanted more at that precise moment than to run far, far away – in the exact opposite direction from wherever it was they were heading. It wasn't cowardice, it was common sense! Why should she be any different?

John reckoned perhaps it would be prudent to move the topic of conversation away from fleeing. His eyes traveled to Jack's face. "It seems so improbable, all those things that had to happen _just so_. Too many of them to remember! Any one of those things could've gone the other way and the outcome would've meant my _permanent_ death."

Jack shrugged, "Anthropic principle."

John's eyes went slightly unfocused, "Still, I can't quite believe I'm alive."

"Anthropic? What's that?" asked The Doctor as he pulled a face.

It was John who answered him, "If anything _had_ been a little different, I would be dead – and so I wouldn't have a brain to remember it with."

"Hmm… Singularly unsatisfying," sniffed the Time Lord. "And a tautology. Conditions that are observed in the universe must allow the observer to exist..."

Jack rolled his eyes but knew John Hart's ruminations were the closest he'd ever get to gratitude from his friend for saving his pathetic, threadbare life. It was almost comforting: the more things changed, the more they stayed the same…

John caught the Captain's eyes with his own and he nodded, maybe even winked. "Thanks, Jack," he said softly.

You could've knocked Jack Harkness over with a feather. He looked at John, then at Wil and then finally back at John. "Wow. I think she's done you some good, Captain Hart."

John's face pinked up a little but he rebounded quickly, "Nah, it's just that I know how much you really hate water, Captain Harkness."

Jack smiled wickedly, "Not as much as I hate EVA-ing!"

John leaned in close to Wil's ear and whispered just loud enough so that the rest could plainly hear, "He gets seasick you know, worst I've ever seen. Simply show him a boat and he barfs all over the…"

"John!" snarled Jack.

"You ever see him go near a bathtub?" John's eyes were sparkling.

"JOHN!" Jack yelped.

The others laughed but to be honest all of them felt like they were eavesdropping on a private conversation. They all felt a little uncomfortable, as if they were unavoidably intruding on something exclusive, intimate, special. Yes, they were a little uncomfortable… and maybe more than just a little bit envious.

It was The Doctor, of course and apparently as always can be expected, who broke the spell. "If you're feeling up to it," he looked levelly at Wil, "shall we be on our way?"

"What you mean feeling up to it?" both John and Jack remarked simultaneously, in one voice.

Wil shot The Doctor an extremely nasty look, "Nothing, he means nothing," she huffed.

John was standing beside her and didn't catch the nonverbal part of her response, but Jack had clearly seen her face and its venomous expression. "What's going on here?" the Captain growled.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Wil's eyes darted from The Doctor to John to Jack and then back to The Doctor, where they stayed. Ianto, standing as an observer slightly outside the group, thought the woman had a vaguely – hell, a _distinctly_ – guilty look about her. He also felt as if there was a definite potential for a sudden psychic eruption, although he wasn't quite sure who would be doing the erupting. He took a deep breath and got himself mentally prepared to perform triage if the circumstances came down to that.

Again it was the Time Lord who figuratively stepped into the center of the fray, this time in an attempt to diffuse the situation – or was it? "I'm sorry," he said, mostly sounding like he meant it. "I'm referring to a private conversation I had with Wil. I had no right to bring it up in public and I apologize for sticking my nose uninvited into her business. It was wrongheaded of me."

Jack was patently not amused. "You suck at apologies, Doctor, you always have, you always will, and that one sucked more than most. And you know… you're not one who should be talking about someone else's health, not after the stunt you pulled earlier. You've got some explaining to do, but I'll leave that for another place and another time."

The Captain took a step toward Wil. Without thinking she reached for and grasped John's hand. Although his face was fierce, Jack's voice was calm, a half-whisper. "Grasshopper informed us, as she so exquisitely and ambiguously phrased it at the time, that you were more damaged than you appeared. Do you want to tell us about it?"

Wil's face went ashen as she shook her head.

"Why not?"

"Jack…" This was John, and his growl was just as ominous as the Captain's.

"Yes, John?" Jack's steely blue eyes flashed.

"Leave her alone."

"Are you telling me what to do?"

"Drop it, Jack." John released Wil's hand and took a step toward the Captain, his arms at his sides but his fists clearly clenched. In John's book retreat was never an option when it came to Jack Harkness being a jerk.

"John, no!" Wil's voice was horror-stricken.

"Stay out of this, it's between him and me," John seethed.

Jack settled into a fighting stance, bared his teeth in a fierce wolf's smile, and with a flick of his fingers dared John to come closer. "Oh yeah, bring it!"

It was Ianto who stepped in between them. "Sir, sirs… I think both of you should stop and count to ten."

The Captain scowled at him, "What are you, my grade school teacher?"

"No sir. Yes sir. If I need to be, sir. The two of you need to walk away from this, whatever _this_ is. John, Jack," he looked at the two of them, "I know you have a history and I respect that. But Wil is also deserving of respect, Jack. She has a right to her privacy, no matter what."

Jack shook his head, "Not if she's jeopardizing the mission."

Ianto's voice was calm, rational; a perfect counter to the Captain's simmering rage. "I don't think she is, Jack. It seems to me what's going on now between you and John – the man who I just heard you call your best friend, the man whose life you just saved single-handedly when both The Doctor and I had given up all hope – is much more of a danger to the mission."

Jack relaxed his stance and the tension in the room eased, but just barely.

Ianto Jones then turned to John Hart, a man he knew mostly from the innumerable amazing and thoroughly frightening stories Jack Harkness had told him. Stories he'd thought were exaggerated, but now was realizing maybe if anything had been understated. "John, it's true. You know it already. You wouldn't be alive without him."

John looked at the floor and then up at Wil. She nodded her head and did her best to smile.

"Bygones?" Ianto asked, looking at the two men.

"You're not gonna make us shake hands are you?" was Jack's snarky reply.

"No… No I wasn't," Ianto's eyes narrowed. "I was actually thinking more along the lines of a hug."

The Doctor snickered out loud. Jack turned on him, raising an index finger into the air. "You're still going to get yours, Time Lord, so laugh it up while you can."

The Doctor clamped his mouth shut but pursed his lips in a smile.

John Hart also smiled, "Did you really call me your best friend, Jack?" It was a fiendish smile.

The Captain sighed. "Take us home to Torchwood, Grasshopper. Now. _Please!_"


	34. Chapter 34

**STORIES**

**THIRTYFOUR**

The Doctor's TARDIS materialized in its usual place inside the Hub.

And as usual the hyperactive Gallifreyan was the first down the ramp and through the doors.

Jack Harkness was shrugging on his greatcoat and a half dozen steps behind. As he approached the entrance the Captain pivoted his head to check that the rest of the group was following him, his eyes unhurriedly painting their faces. And that's when he heard the strange, muffled popping sound: while his head was turned. When his attention was behind him instead of in front of him…

"Doctor?"

Silence.

Jack's eyes briefly met John's and a certain unmistakable look passed between them.

"Doctor? Are you all right?"

Nothing.

Jack turned, resumed his egress and then stood in the doorway.

"Hello big brother."

The Doctor was on the floor, holding his leg, rocking back and forth in pain. Gray was standing behind him, pointing some sort of weapon – Jack thought it looked a lot like a phase disruptor – down at the Time Lord's head.

Gray glanced down at his presumed victim, then back up at Jack, and confirmed the presumption. "Oh, don't worry about him. I just blew out his knee. As long as you cooperate he won't come to any further harm, at least not any time real soon."

If looks could kill, Jack would've eviscerated his brother, but instead of acting the Captain uncharacteristically just stood stock still.

"Oh, and I wouldn't think of trying anything cute, big brother. My weapon _was_ on its lowest setting, but _now_ it's on its highest. How many times can I kill your precious Time Lord, eh, Jack? How many times will he regenerate?" Gray moved the gun closer to The Doctor's skull. "I seem to recall that he only has a limited number of regenerations left… While I admit it'd be intriguing if not fun to test that theory, I actually have other far more appealing plans for him."

"He's an insane bully and a terrorist, Jack. Don't…"

With a single violent blow Gray pistol-whipped The Doctor across his temple. The Doctor's eyes rolled up into his head as he slumped flat onto the floor. "Did I give you permission to speak? Shut that interminable gob of yours, Time Lord." He emphasized his final two words with a swift and brutal kick to the ribs. The Doctor groaned in pain and rolled into a fetal position.

Then Gray turned his attention back to Jack and sneered, "Big brother come on down here and let's see who else you have with you, shall we? That's right, stand over there and keep your hands out in the open at your sides where I can see them. Who's next, hmmm? Well, well, well, it's the sweet minion. Hello, gorgeous! Have you thought any more about my proposal, minion? It's a limited time offer, good only… oh dear! Perhaps it's already too late because who am I seeing behind you but the red-haired slut!" Gray motioned with his free hand toward Jack. "Yes, both of you, over there. Stand by your brave and dashing Captain. And keep your hands visible if you don't want to be responsible for causing a premature Time Lord regeneration." His eyes narrowed as he leered at Wil, "Hello, pretty girl! I don't believe we've ever met but I've heard so much about you. You know, my brother and I used to share everything…_ Everything_. Maybe I'll keep you with me; it's been a long time since I had any female human companionship… But… what's this?" He sniffed the air as he scrutinized her. "You're keeping a secret. You've lost something important, haven't you?" He smiled cruelly. "I know your name is Wil but maybe I should call you mommy, eh? All the better… I do so miss my mommy. But still…" his sickly sweet smile transformed into a snicker. "You're not a nice girl, are you? Nice girls don't get pregnant.

"And who's that behind you? Oh dear, it's daddy. It's John-boy. Well, Johnny, it has been a while hasn't it? You were quite a whole lot of fun back when I had you under my thumb and in my bed. And my, but how you've been busy since then! Sexy John-boy! Loyal John-boy! Virile John-boy! And clever John-boy, too! Did you finally figure out who my colleagues are, hmm? My friends? Well it took you long enough! But then you were never the sharpest blade in the drawer, were you? And what is it that you're wearing, John-boy? Has big brother been playing house with you again? Isn't this fascinating! Was it in front of the slut? Oh dear, how precious: a ship veritably simmering – boiling-over with my big brother's lovers!" He studied each of them in turn. "And chock-a-block with love triangles! We've got a genuine cosmic soap opera going on here. The good wife, the red-haired harlot, the sweet minion, and last but not least, the current object of my brother's affections – the love of his life – the truly unobtainable, or is he simply a tease merely playing hard-to-get? Ta-dah! The Time Lord from Gallifrey. How lucky am I to have all of you in one place? Such a handsome bunch. And wouldn't it be fascinating to watch what it would do to my big brother if I killed each of you, one at a time, slowly in front of him?"

Jack, his face beyond livid, took a step forward and again Gray sharply kicked the prostrate Time Lord in the ribs. "Uh-uh, Captain. Do you really want to see how well he'd regenerate if I disappear seventy-five or eighty percent of his body and leave the remaining bits a quivering bloody pulp?

"And now, all of you," Gray grabbed The Doctor by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet. "We're going on a short tour," he waved his weapon at Jack and the others. "Not far, mind you. Only to where my brother has been keeping me. I have to admit it's not a very nice place. But that's not my fault." Dragging along the whimpering Time Lord, he began herding the group toward the morgue. "In fact, it's a damn cold place, like my big brother's heart. You might even say it's frozen, like my big brother's soul. Because, you know, no matter what he's convinced you to believe, he's not very nice, my big brother. Although as a child I adored, I worshipped by big brother, he never loved me. Don't you see? He willingly handed me over to them. He callously sacrificed his little brother so that he could get away safely and live a life full of adventure and excitement, full of friends and lovers. That's the real Captain Jack behind the brilliant smile and sparkling blue eyes. Well… all I can say is what goes round comes round. Oh yes, it does. And in this case there are four of you along with my big brother, so it's going to come round in quintuplicate!"

There was a pile of human bodies on the floor of the crypt, arms and legs horrifically akimbo and jumbled together. At first Jack gasped, thinking that somehow Gray had killed Gwen and the others. But then with a sickening jolt the Captain noticed five of the crypts were open. Open and empty. One had been Gray's, but the others… the others had belonged to former employees of Torchwood. Their bodies now lay desecrated, discarded in a heap on the floor.

Jack knew who they were, those four people whose bodies had been savagely tossed aside. He'd known all of them. They were former colleagues. Some were erstwhile lovers. All had been friends. It was one of the most ghastly things he'd ever seen, and it made his blood run thin and ice cold.

"Sorry, big brother! I'm sure you're finding this sight a wee bit disturbing, even with that frigid heart of yours. There wasn't much room at the inn so I had to kick out some long-term residents." Gray viciously threw The Doctor against one of the caskets then used his weapon to motion angrily at Jack. "Put him in." When Jack hesitated Gray once again pointed the disruptor at the Time Lord's head. "Put him in _now_."

Jack slowly walked forward and stood over the crypt. The Doctor smiled at him and nodded his head. Jack nodded back and helped the Time Lord into the chamber before sliding it shut with a tremendous shove. The compartment closed with a loud clang and what sounded like the hiss of air.

"Secure it, Jack. Lock it down."

Jack did what he was told.

"Now the sweet minion. Oh! Too late, minion. The previous one-time only offer has expired. Just like Jack, I've decided I don't want you. Put him in, big brother and lock him up."

Ianto swiftly walked forward and lay down in the casket. Jack briefly touched the Welshman's hand with his fingertips before sliding in the drawer. Again there was a tremendous push, again the hiss of air.

"Who's next big brother? How about John-boy?" Gray pointed his weapon at John Hart. "Do you want to kiss mommy good-bye, daddy?" When John reached out toward Wil Gray shook his head. "No, I don't think so. She's just going to break your heart anyway. You should've stayed with me when you had the chance. What did I tell you? What did I always tell you? I'm the only one who really loves you, John-boy. I'm the only one who really understands you and can give you what you want. Get in," he sneered. There was another loud clang, another hiss of air.

"Ah, so now it's just the two of you. I'm sure you could put on quite a good show for me, and there's always the delectable possibility of a _ménage à trois_, but I'm getting bored. Put her in, Jack. I've decided I don't want her. She's all used up anyway, and besides, our mommy always told me to stay away from whores. Too bad our mommy didn't realize you were the biggest whore of all, big brother. Don't dawdle now, close the damn chamber!"

Jack fleetingly met Wil's eyes before he pushed in the crypt. Then he turned and stared at his little brother. "What's next, Gray? Are you going to kill me? You have something worse in mind, maybe? And then what? Are you going to…?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Gray aimed his weapon directly at the Captain's chest and fired it. Jack Harkness crumpled dead to the floor, his body a bloody mess…

"And how's that for a good day's work?" Gray smiled a few minutes later as he coldly inspected his brother after placing what was left of Jack's corpse inside the fifth crypt – ironically enough and as fully intended, his own former crypt. "My friends are going to be so pleased to know you're here waiting for them, that you are ALL here waiting for them! It just doesn't get much better than this, big brother." He snickered and paced the floor for a short time.

"And yet… well, just to show you that your little brother the King of Darkness can be magnanimous, that your little brother the Prince of the Dark Force can be forgiving, how about if before I bring in my friends I exhume that home world of ours? Seems it might be quite amusing having you to play with knowing that YOU know we also have good old Boeshane to play with, too. I always knew you had a soft spot in your heart for that moldy old planet, but it's more than just a soft spot, isn't it? Oh, it's much more and now I know your secret. Boeshane's one of your fatal flaws, one of your incurable weaknesses, isn't it big brother?" With a sneer Gray used his weapon to pistol-whip the Captain's battered and bloody skull; then he angrily threw the disruptor across the room, smashing it against the wall. "And that's because unlike me _you_ still happen to have fond memories of it… but I'm going to make you regret every single one of those memories. Just like I'm going to make you regret you were ever born.

"Oh, but I do think it sounds like fun, having all these friends of yours _and_ Boeshane to torment you with!" Gray giggled as he clicked a few keys on the small device he now held. "Besides, Boeshane was never really _totally_ dead and gone – it was just sort of in a temporal never-never land, you might say. Are my colleagues, my friends good or what, to be able to perform magick tricks like that? Much, much cleverer than those pathetic Time Lords who you love so much ever were, ever could be! But you and that pathetic Doctor of yours are so predictable; your over-reacting so foreseeable and such a hoot! Honestly, if it weren't so funny, so laughable, it'd be banal, this lack of imagination of yours. But then you always were gullible, weren't you? You always believed the fairytales and other bedtime stories mom used to tell us. Oh, the nightmares those stories would give you! The demons and the gremlins and the fairies were as real to you as I was. And maybe that's one of your problems, eh? The fairies were _more_ real to you, you cared _more_ about them in the end than you did your poor little brother. Well, anyway, thanks for the laugh, big brother, and here's to many, _many_ more." He indifferently flicked a couple small, errant pieces of bloody flesh off of his sleeve. "Your nightmares have only just begun. Oh yes, you're about to come face-to-face with real monsters, Captain Jack Harkness."

Gray slammed the chamber shut and listened to the harsh sibilance as the crypt's internal vacuum sealed with a loud _shush_.

"And finally, time for another reunion! Introductions are in order. Now that I've met yours, I think it's high time you get to meet my friends, big brother." Gray grinned as he clicked a few more keys on his device and disappeared.


	35. Chapter 35

**STORIES**

**THIRTYFIVE**

"Teacher?

"Yes, Grasshopper?"

"I've got that nasty man."

"Good, Grasshopper."

"I also intercepted his attempted communication with the Aedui. We've learned quite a good deal from it. Important and useful things. This information should help us in our fight, if you choose to continue it. And there's more… we've learned something about the Boeshane Peninsula that I believe will please Captain Harkness."

"That's all good too, Grasshopper. What did you do with him?"

"With who, Teacher?"

"That nasty man?"

"I've put him in a level five hazmat container, Teacher."

"You… WHAT?"

"I wanted to make sure he'd be secure. That he'd no longer be a threat to you or the others. Or to anyone else."

"But… how did you manage to fit him inside a level five hazmat container?"

"I had to compress him a bit."

"I can imagine!"

"Yes, Teacher, I'm sure you can. I didn't like him very much."

"I don't blame you. I didn't either. He's not a very nice man."

"It occurs to me, Teacher…"

"Yes, Grasshopper?"

"It occurs to me that there are a lot of not very nice men."

"This is true, Grasshopper. But the antithesis of your statement is true as well. There are also a whole lot of very, very nice men. There are four of them in this room with me right now."

"But I wonder about the ratio, Teacher."

Wil smiled inwardly. "I'm not sure that's such a productive thing to wonder about. But if you count, I believe what you'll find is that for every Ganelial there is at least one Crade."

"Yes, Teacher.

"Teacher?"

"Yes, Grasshopper?"

"Should I send the level five hazmat container into the core of the sun?"

"No, Grasshopper."

"You want me to preserve him?"

"I think we will need to let Jack decide what to do with him. After all, he is Jack's brother."

"I'm not very impressed with how well Jack has managed his brother up through this point in time."

"Yes, I know. Managing family is always tricky. But this time we'll help him."

"I understand…

"Teacher?"

"Yes, Grasshopper?"

"Do you want me to beam all of you out?"

"No, Grasshopper."

"Do you want me to beam you and John out?"

"No, Grasshopper."

"Do you want me to beam you out?"

"No, Grasshopper. There'll be no transporting."

"I don't understand."

"Are we all alive?"

"Yes, Teacher."

"Even Jack?"

"Yes, Teacher. He has revived. His life signs are strong. His clothes, however, are a mess. He'll be needing a new coat."

She couldn't help but grin, "Are we safe?"

"Yes, Teacher. I saw to that."

"Are we well?"

"Yes, Teacher. I have seen to that, too."

Wil sighed. "Pay attention, my wonderful student. Sometimes hearing the truth is hard for humans. Even when we are already aware of it, when we already know it all too well, all too intimately, hearing the truth spoken out loud can be difficult. The truth can be hard, Grasshopper."

"Yes?"

"Yes, it can. And right now I think all of us could use a little time. Time that takes away the pains of the body. Of the mind. Of the heart."

"But Teacher… as you always taught me, the truth…"

"Yes, yes, I know. _The truth shall set you free_ and all that rubbish. Well, sometimes, Grasshopper, the truth just hurts. That's all, it simply hurts."

"I understand, Teacher."

"I know you do, Grasshopper."

"Teacher?"

"Yes, Grasshopper?"

"Do you not want to disappear?"

There was a long pause. "No, Grasshopper. I think I'm through with disappearing."

"I see, Teacher."

"Grasshopper?"

"Yes, Wil?"

"End the lockdown on the Hub and contact Gwen Cooper. Inform her she's got some friends waiting for her in the morgue. And let the others know that help is on the way."

"Consider it done, Teacher."


	36. Epilogue

**STORIES**

**EPILOGUE**

"Why is it that the human monsters are always the most terrible?" Gwen Cooper asked Jack Harkness. The Captain shrugged but said nothing. Gwen walked out of the morgue, shaking her head.

"Is everybody okay?" Jack asked as he looked at Wil with a strange mixture of sadness and – what was it? – thinly veiled longing. Or maybe it wasn't so thinly veiled. In the exact same fashion, John looked at Jack, and Ianto looked at The Doctor.

After a moment the Lord of Time smirked and then laughed out loud. It was a rich, deep laugh, but… more, somehow. The sound of the laugh was filled with a warmth and a purity that almost made the air quiver around it. It'd been a long while since The Doctor had laughed like that. "What a pathetic bunch of human beings!"

The four all turned and stared at him.

"I'm just sayin'… it's like you're all in a Eugene O'Neill, Tennessee Williams, or Arthur Miller play. It perpetually amazes me how clever you humans are at finding ways to make each other crazy…" The Doctor paused for a few seconds and then smiled puckishly, "I knew him, by the way; Arthur was a very nice man. He had a lovely wife… gorgeous, in fact."

The Lord of Time pivoted and limped toward his TARDIS. "Whoever is coming with me, let's get rolling!"

Jack turned and followed The Doctor inside. "What did I tell you, Captain? Every time I come here something terrible happens to me," the Time Lord muttered as he closed and locked the doors. "Besides," he sniffed, "this place's _feng shui_ is unpleasant." Less than a minute later, they were gone.

John gazed at Wil and noticed the crow's feet in the corners of her eyes that hadn't been there the week before. She looked back at him steadfastly. "Shall we continue to live the Story, M'Lady?" he asked softly, tipping his head toward their ship and smiling as he reached out a hand to her. Wil nodded as she intertwined her fingers with his and the two of them shimmered for a few seconds before they vanished. Then quiet as a cat, Grasshopper evaporated.

Ianto Jones was left alone to clean up the mess.

**FINIS**

"_If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story."  
_Orson Welles

**Afterword**

The sequel to "Stories" is entitled "Love."

Wil Beinert does get around, and she has been showing up in some strange, unexpected, even exotic places. For example, check out the fiction of my dear and supremely talented friends Random Cheeses and ChellusAuglerie.

Thanks to all for the reviews, which mean so much to me (more than I can say). And a special thanks to my Book Club partner.

_-00-_

"_My friend, I am going to tell you the story of my life, as you wish; and if it were only the story of my life I think I would not tell it; for what is one man that he should make much of his winters, even when they bend him like a heavy snow?"  
_Black Elk


End file.
